He also thought he was a charmer.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"What do you know about Jesse Chapman?"

Vern whistled. "El Paso's very own prodigal son. What exactly do you want to know?

"Anything. Everything."

"Don't you read People magazine?"

"I'm not interested in his love life." At least she wasn't about to admit it to Vern. "I want to go deeper than that."

"Let's see." He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk. "He's a damn fine golfer. Could be one of the best. Though we'll see how good he truly is in August when he competes in the PGA Championship."

"What do you mean?"

"The PGA is the last of the four major tournaments of the year. Every golfer knows that if he wants a legacy that goes beyond having made a good living, he's got to win at least one of the game's four majors. So far, Jesse hasn't been able to do it."

"All the great golfers win them?"

"Not all, but there's more pressure on Jesse to succeed than some others. I have no doubt that he's good. But you see, he gets a lot of attention-and there are those who say he gets it because of his pretty-boy good looks and his antics with the women, not because of his talent. But what I have always admired about Jesse is that he never succumbed to the taunts or innuendos. He has lived his own life, played his own game, and now he's on the verge of proving the naysayers wrong. That's what makes this tournament different for Jesse. If he can win one of the majors, he'll prove that he's not just a pretty face."

She remembered the darkness that crept into Jesse's features. The tension that flared only to have him firmly wipe it away. Was he really less at ease being a bad boy than she had thought?

Vern steepled his fingers. "Jesse's coming up to a big tournament. The pressure's intense and every sports writer is going to be watching what he can do in August. This is a huge game for him. He really needs to win. He needs to keep his head clear and his focus tight. How better to do that than going back to his roots?"

"And you think that's why he's come back here? It's a place where he can have space and no worries?"

"Exactly."

But his son had arrived, turning his world upside down. Regardless of everything that rode on this single

tournament, Jesse had taken responsibility for Travis. Kate felt a sharp stab of amazement and respect.

No wonder Jesse hadn't seemed himself lately.

"Morning, Kate."

She turned and found her director standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Pete."

"Are you ready for the show?"

She extended her arms, showing off the casual slacks and sweater set she had worn. It seemed a good balance between buckskins and her normal business suit.

"You look great," he said. "See you on the set."

By the time she left Vern's office, she forced herself to forget about Jesse for now. She had a show to do, a show she needed to make shine to help her stay employed.

But an hour later, when she walked onto the set for Getting Real, her heart went still.

Jesse and Travis pulled into the driveway in the black Jeep.

"I think we found everything we need," Jesse said.

"And then some."

Jesse laughed. "Yeah, maybe I got carried away. But there's just something about a lumber store that

makes me want to buy things."

Travis looked at him like he was crazy.

They had gotten to the Home Depot at seven-thirty that morning, then spent a couple of hours there,

Travis trailing along, trying to look interested. In the saw section, the kid had gotten fidgety. "Are you sure we should get one of those?"

"We've got to cut the wood somehow. You're not afraid of saws, are you?"

After a long second of apparent debate, he said, "Me? Nah. Love saws."

Now the back of the SUV was loaded with most of what they would need to rebuild the tree house Jesse remembered as a child. Everything else would be delivered.

The minute Jesse turned off the car, Travis leaped out. "It's time for Getting Real with Katel Quick or we'll miss it."

"You go ahead."

Travis didn't wait. He raced inside. Jesse hesitated, not sure he wanted to see any more of Kate, getting real or not. But as if he couldn't help himself, he dropped off some tools, nails, small rungs of wood for ladder steps, and a saw in the backyard, then went inside. He told himself he was thirsty.

The television in the kitchen blared, Travis leaning forward as the opening music and credits rolled.

Then there was Katie herself, looking sweet and wonderful in her new outfit. She sat on a sofa, smiling.

But Jesse could tell she was panicked. She looked at a note card, and her eyes filled with dread before

she said, "Please welcome Mistress Reynalda." A long, painful pause followed before she added, "Pet psychic."

"Pet psychic?" Jesse demanded.

"Cool," Travis enthused.

No question this had Julia written all over it.

A woman dressed in a long flowing caftan and a turban came out onto the stage like a Middle Eastern

queen entering her court.

"Hello," she said in a heavy accent. Sort of Arabian Nights mixed with a barely disguised Mexican flare.

She held two big white fluffy cats, one underneath each arm. "Tank you, Mees Kate, for having me."

The woman arranged herself on the sofa, then extended one of the big fluff balls to Kate. Kate's smile

wavered, her eyes going wide with panic when the cat put out its paws like it was putting on the brakes. Jesse could all but hear her thinking that even animals didn't like her.

For half a second, Kate held the cat at arm's length, then seemed to remember the camera.

Fighting for her smile, she brought the animal as close as she could, but the feline wasn't too happy about the arrangement. It started to squirm, trying to get away.

"Now, now, Mees Kate," Mistress Reynalda said in a soothing, if condescending, voice. "Relax. You

must be at ease with your pussy."

Kate froze, her fingers clutching the cat in a death grip of shock, making it squirm even more. Jesse dropped into a chair like a piece of lead.

"Mees Kate, please," the woman added as the cat hissed. "You must pet your pussy."

Even on the small, twelve-inch screen, Jesse could see Kate turn a bright shade of red. Then suddenly

she started patting the cat. Not gently, not soothingly, but rather with a frantic, flat-palmed pat, pat, pat on the head, its eyes squeezing shut each time.

"No, no! Not like that. Here, let me pet your pussy for you."

With that, Kate jerked up off the sofa, and the cat bolted, flying straight for the cameraman. Though this time it wasn't a simple carrot that rocketed across the set. The cat must have attached itself to his leg, because the camera whirled to the side until all Jesse and Travis could see was the regular news team on their set, dabbing their faces with makeup as they waited to go back on air. Instantly, the co-anchors went stiff and drudged up bared-tooth smiles before the screen went blank. Seconds later, an advertisement for Herb Harts Auto Parts whirled to a frantic start.

Travis clicked off the television, then the two males who looked so much alike sat in silence.

"Wow," the twelve-year-old finally said. "I didn't think anyone could get so red. And over a cat."

"Maybe we shouldn't mention it to Katie when we see her."

"Really? Why not?"

Good question. Jesse wasn't interested in explaining the pussy problem because he had no idea what the

boy did or did not know about a woman's anatomy and the slang sometimes used to refer to it. And he had no interest in finding out. That really didn't fall under the heading of food or clothes.

"Most artists don't like talking about their work."

It sounded lame, even to him.

"Why not?"

"Listen, Travis, we have a tree house to build."