"Kate."

"I've never taken advantage of Katie."

"Haven't you? The night of my wedding?"

"I've told you before, and I'll say this one last time: I didn't take advantage of her that day."

"I can't believe you still expect me to believe that nothing went on between you two in your bedroom.

I saw her. I saw her come running out crying."

"Fuck."

"Ah, yes, isn't that what you do best?"

The fury exploded, and he had his brother up against the wall again, his own demons wrapping around

him like a vise. This time Derek cursed, then sighed wearily, pulling a deep breath, calm returning with

effort.

"Damn it," the older Chapman stated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything.

That's the past. I came over here about the future."

Jesse pushed away. "What are you talking about?"

"Face it, Jesse, do you really think you can take care of Travis? Don't you think he deserves a place to stay where two mature adults can care for him?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm offering to take Travis off your hands. I know you. You're champing at the bit to get out of here. So go. Leave Travis with Suzanne and me."

Jesse's eyes narrowed. "I see why you're doing this now. You can't have kids, so you decide you'll take mine instead."

Where physical blows hadn't hit their mark, that did. Jesse knew he shouldn't have cared. But he felt like a jerk for having said it anyway. That was how it worked with them. Fury pushing them on, each of them saying things that wounded deep. It had been that way for too many years to count. Old habits that were hard to change. Years of each of them disappointing the other.

"Hell. Just go, Derek. Travis is my responsibility. I've arranged for golf camp."

"There's more to taking care of a child than golf camp. You have to guide and mold and care."

Jesse remembered Katie telling him a version of the very same thing. And that's when the idea hit him.

"I am going to do more. I've come up with a plan so Travis and I can spend more time together." As soon as he said the words he couldn't believe it. But he was too far in to turn back. "We're going to rebuild the tree house."

"What?"

"The one that used to be in Katie's old cottonwood. Travis and I are going to rebuild it together."

NINE.

Rebuild the tree house. What the hell was he thinking? Travis and Kate were fixing dinner, and Jesse left the house. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to get out of town. Just as Derek had said.

Jesse thought of his father.

Decades ago, it had been at the golf course where it had all started. His father had taken him and Derek to hit a few when Jesse was eleven, Derek nineteen. Derek had hated the game. But the minute Jesse had felt the club face connect with that tiny white ball, he was hooked. The sensation was amazing. The feeling of power that he hadn't felt with anything before or since. More than that, it had been the first time in months that Jesse felt as if he could traverse the divide that had grown between father and son. It was the first time something had sparked in Carlen's eyes. A sign that there was still life inside him, that maybe Jesse wouldn't lose him after all.

Golf was also the most frustrating game ever invented.

It was a day-to-day challenge no matter how good a player became. On a good round, golf made him feel like a king. During a bad one, he wondered why he bothered. But those days when he experienced that heady rush of success, that sensation of pure connection, was what brought him back.

But Carlen and Jesse shared more than just golf. Once the bond had started, Carlen had shared his entire world with his younger son. The drinking, the women-as Derek had said, since he was eleven.

That was the demarcation line, the before and after. Before, when their father was in shocked despair over their mother. Then after, when slowly, bit by bit, vice by vice, the man had made his younger son his friend. Carlen Chapman had been alternately moody and arrogantly selfish, and Jesse had never known how to say no, causing his innocence to end early, though so gradually that he sometimes didn't remember being any other way.

After a year of having a broken father, Jesse hadn't known how to decline when Carlen offered him his first drink. He wanted his father back, in whatever capacity was offered. The wildness had become the only life he knew. But Jesse had always done what was right when it came to Katie.

On the day of Derek's wedding, he had wanted nothing more than Katie. Her innocent touch had nearly undone him, just as it had years earlier when she was fourteen and had run her fingers down the path of hair on his chest.

That seemed to be their pattern. Katie seeing something in him that no longer existed, and Jesse trying to do the right thing-at least when it came to her. Because he was not an innocent. And he knew if he made her his, then moved on as he knew he would, Katie would always be considered one of the women who couldn't keep him.

Jesse got in his Jeep and started to drive, then found himself pulling through the tall, black gates of the El Paso Country Club. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel at the sight of the sprawling red brick building at the head of an old-world circular drive shaded by ancient cottonwood trees.

He sat for a second, staring beyond the building to the course. He wondered if he could afford to take a chance on pulling out his clubs and trying to hit a bucket of balls. Would the driving range be crowded? Would people circle around, closing in on him?

He had been honest when he said he had come to El Paso to get away from reporters. He didn't want to talk about the hero business. But it was more than that- there was more that he had a hard time admitting even to himself.

He'd been on fire all year, coming close to winning nearly every tournament he played. Now, with the PGA Championship looming in August, what he really couldn't afford the press getting wind of was that he hadn't been able to swing a club without breaking into a cold sweat since he saved that woman.

He took a deep breath and told himself he could solve the problem here, on this course where he had fallen in love with the sport. He would pull out his clubs, empty his mind, and work out the glitch in his game.

He put on a pair of soft spiked shoes, then pulled a putter, nine iron, and driver out of his bag. As he walked toward the pro shop, heat simmered off the black tarmac, the sky overhead an almost painful blue, without a cloud in the sky. To his left, he could hear kids splashing in the complex's swimming pool. To his right, the felt-wrapped rubber whack of a tennis ball volleyed over the net on the courts.

The minute he pushed into the air-conditioned confines of the golf shop, everyone stopped what they were doing.

"Jesse!"

Golfers crowded around, shaking his hand, glad to be there for his return. Others whom he had never met before hung back, smiling that hopeful smile the more dignified fans got when they wanted him to notice them. Most people assumed this was his favorite part of the game given the sheer amount of media attention he had garnered over the years. But in truth, he hated it.

"Welcome home," the pro said, coming up and shaking his hand. "Good to see you here."

Jesse tried to concentrate on what the man said as they caught up. They discussed rankings and some new up-and-coming talent. It seemed like forever before he was able to continue on through the shop to the other side, coming out onto the putting green.

With measured movements, he set his other clubs aside, then took the putter and a handful of balls. For one long moment he just stood there. His heart felt like it was lodged in his throat, his palms clammy.

Relax, Chapman.

Focus.

He could see through the trees to the towering heights of Mount Franklin rising up into the wide-open West Texas sky. The golf course spread out before him like a carpet, huge willow trees and cottonwoods lining each. fairway. This was the world he had known his whole life. This was the solution to the glitch in his game. It had to be.

Dropping the balls onto the velvet green, he took his stance over the putter, swung a few times in practice. He glanced at the mountains one more time before he blocked out the world, breathed deep, pulled the putter back, then swung through. The connection simmered through him as he watched the ball roll toward the miniature flag. He concentrated so hard that he could make out the ball maker's name circling round and round until the ball fell into the hole.

His breath came out in a rush, and he pressed his eyes closed. Good.

He sunk the next two in a row.

The tension that had wrapped around him eased a notch. Barely, but enough that it felt good to be here out on the course. No cameras circling around. No fans with expectations that were impossible to meet.

Stepping up to the last ball, he took a deep breath. He heard someone say his name in the distance. For a second he froze. But then he blocked it out. He swung the club ever so slightly, felt the solid clink of connection, sending the ball running up toward the hole, looking a little left, before it caught the break, circled the rim, then fell into the cup with a gratifying clatter. Success. Five for five. It was a start. But the short game hadn't been the problem. That lay ahead on the driving range.

Before anyone could come up to him, he gathered his belongings and headed over to the ball machine and got a bucket of balls. Concentrating, he told himself he could re-create the same sensation with his driver and nine iron as he had with the putter.

He ignored the other golfers, his grip tight on the metal handle of the wire bucket, and headed for the range. But escape wasn't in the offing. Within minutes, a crowd circled around, closing in on him, making it hard to breathe. And when someone hollered out, demanding that he go for the trees beyond the three hundred-yard marker, the sound startled him. The ease of El Paso was forgotten. The hope for a simple cure on this course was lost.

For nearly as long as he could remember, he had lost himself to women, to sex-and to pushing to the edge, adrenaline and satisfaction pumping through his body, emptying the constant circling in his mind. For a few minutes, a few hours, he forgot the innocent life he had known before. Oddly, it was his father who had taught him about that, about the forgetting. First with a cigarette. Next with a drink after father and son started playing golf together. One drink then two at the infamous "nineteenth hole."

But it was the night of his thirteenth birthday that had changed him completely. His father leaving him alone with one of the older man's many girlfriends. She giving him the sort of present that made his body come to life. It seemed that he had been heading toward that night for the preceding two years.

Derek had been furious when the woman had walked out of Jesse's bedroom. Their father had laughed. Jesse hadn't known what to do. But he knew that he had to protect his father. What would happen if Derek told the people who came by trying to make sure all of them were okay after their mother died? Would they take their father away, leaving them with no one? How had it happened that the world Jesse participated in so that he wouldn't lose his father had suddenly become yet another way that could cause another loss?

Whatever the answer was, Jesse had been protecting his father ever since.

Jesse whirled around. Several people waved. Women smiled that smile he had come to hate. An invitation. A promise of what they wanted to give him.

He knew he didn't dare try to swing because if he did, even here, he realized, he very well might shank the ball. And he couldn't afford for anyone to see that his game was off.

Fuck.

With effort, he smiled and bowed gracefully.

"Sorry, folks, but I just remembered I have someplace I have to be."

People started to grumble, but Jesse didn't stop. He left the full bucket of white balls on the grass, bypassed the pro shop this time, then headed for the parking lot, the club shafts banging against his leg as he went.

Swearing, he carelessly tossed his clubs into the back of the Jeep. The minute he slid into the driver's seat, he shifted into gear and had to force himself not to floor it.

Instead, he drove with careful precision through the open gates, then straight down Country Club Place to Country Club Road, away from the course, away even from Katie's house and the old neighborhood. When he got out of sight, he pushed the accelerator hard, losing himself in the speed, as if he could outrun the terrifying thought that maybe even El Paso couldn't put him back together again.

To: Julia Boudreaux Chloe Sinclair From: Katherine Bloom Subject: Construction site I'm worried that Suzanne is panicking over not being able to get pregnant. Derek came over and wanted to take Travis. Jesse could have done the easy thing and said yes. Instead, he decided to rebuild the old tree house.

He's already started drawing up plans, making lists of all the things he'll need. He says it's a project that he and Travis can work on together. Travis, unfortunately, didn't look nearly as excited. He made some comment about him and tools not being particularly compatible. But I suppose it's a great way for the two of them to bond.

p.s. Maybe at some point down the road we should think about a pregnancy show.

Katherine C. Bloom News Anchor, KTEX TV West Texas To: Katherine Bloom Chloe Sinclair From: Julia Boudreaux Subject: Soap opera It's a shame to hear that all that scheduled sex and ejaculating into cups hasn't paid off for Derek and Suzanne. I can only hope that when I finally find a man worthy of having my child, I'll be able to.

xo, j p.s. I refuse to do a show on pregnancy, but a fun show on how to get pregnant isn't a bad idea. Though first let's get through the pet segment.

To: Katherine Bloom Julia Boudreaux From: Chloe Sinclair Subject: re: Construction site Are you telling me that not only has Jesse's little vacation been extended due to his son, but now he's going to play handyman in the backyard when he has a huge tournament coming up? Though I guess you're right about the two of them spending time together.

Anyway, Kate, tomorrow's show is set. Though, Julia, are you sure about this?

Chloe Sinclair Station Manager Award-winning KTEX TV To: Julia Boudreaux Chloe Sinclair From: Katherine Bloom Subject: Sure about what?!

What is there to be sure about regarding a pet show???

K.

TEN.

First thing the next morning, Kate pulled up to the back of KTEX TV and pressed the call button at the rear entrance. She didn't have to wait long before she was buzzed in by security.

The morning news team talked and laughed on air before cutting to an advertisement. Sitting on the brightly lit set, they didn't even notice Kate as she walked past, since the anchors and the weatherman were busy pulling concealed powder out of news desk flower arrangements and weather station props to pat on noses that never got ' a chance to get shiny.

KTEX was an award-winning station, but like much of the local media, it didn't have a staff for hair or makeup. The on-air talent did their own, fishing blush and compacts out of table decorations between each segment.

Kate did the same thing-had for years. But in addition to primping, she included massive amounts of prepping. Today would be the first time ever she had gone on the air without a clue about her subject. She prayed Julia was right that having a more free-flowing style would make her loosen up.

Before she gave another thought to the pet show, there was something else she wanted to do first. She bypassed her office and continued down the hall to the sports department.

Vern Leeper sat in his office.

"Good morning, Vern."

The ex-football player of about sixty leaned back, the springs of the 1950s vinyl and metal chair squeaking in protest. He was the sports editor for the station, and despite his old boy facade, he was a virtual repository of all things pertinent to sports. Anything he didn't know he was happy to research.

"Good morning, yourself, good-looking."