anger.

She met Derek's gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that as the older brother, you should have at least tried to protect Jesse from the very attention you blame him for having?"

Derek's nostrils flared, and she could see understanding finally, completely, sink in. "Hell," he bit out.

"Sounds like it was," she said. "For both of you, I'm sure. But you never thought to help Jesse find his way out of it."

"Hell," he repeated, dragging his hand through his hair in a way that made him look so much like Jesse.

"He needed a father and a big brother. Do you see how he didn't get either?" Reaching out, she laid her

hand on his arm. "I'm not trying to blame you, Derek. Really, I'm not. I'm just trying to point out that Jesse doesn't deserve blame, either. Your father deserves that."

"Hell," he said one last time, before he left the cottage.

She didn't know what he would do. All she knew was that she had to find Vern Leeper and learn what had really happened at the Westchester Open.

To: Julia Boudreaux Katherine Bloom From: Chloe Sinclair Subject: Weather I can't believe it's raining. It can't be raining. Or if it's going to rain, it has to stop by tomorrow morning.

Everything is set. Promos running every hour. The phone lines are ringing off the hook. Kate, you were absolutely right. It's like every citizen of El Paso wants to be at this event. So it has to stop raining.

Chloe

p.s. Kate, VeRN was asking for you. He has some videotape he said you wanted. I told him to put it on your desk.

Chloe Sinclair Station Manager Award-winning KTEXTV To: Chloe Sinclair Katherine Bloom From: Julia Boudreaux Subject: Worry Chloe, darling, you worry too much. Though I suppose that's what you get paid for. Regardless, you know how these summer storms are. They blow themselves out by evening. Tomorrow is going to be glorious. Everything is perfectly in order on our end. How about you, Kate? Everything set?

xo, j p.s. What videotape?

To: Chloe Sinclair From: Julia Boudreaux Subject: Kate Have you seen or heard from Kate? She's doing her disappearing act again. I'm a little worried that something has gone awry.

J To: Katherine Bloom From: Chloe Sinclair Subject: Busy Kate, I know you have your hands full. But please give me an update.

Chloe To: Julia Boudreaux Chloe Sinclair From: Katherine Bloom Subject: Update Everything is fine. I'll see you both at the course in the morning.

K.

To: Chloe Sinclair From: Julia Boudreaux Subject: Kate Why do I get the feeling that everything isn't so fine?

TWENTY-TWO.

It was dark when Kate pulled up to the station, her wipers slashing back the rain. The employee parking lot was empty except for the skeletal night shift. The Security guard stood under the eave of the roof, trying to escape the brunt of the storm.

"Hello, Ms. Bloom," the man said. "Surprised to see you here this late."

"Hello, Mr. Vasquez. I need to pick something up."

"I'm looking forward to the big golf-off tomorrow," he added excitedly.

Kate wished she felt even an ounce of excitement. Instead, all she had was dread of the impending disaster. Regardless, she had to see the videotape Vern had left for her, praying it held the answers.

The guard used his key and let her into the building. She waved at the night crew as she headed for her office. Flipping on the light, she entered. Her desk was perfectly organized. Books were lined neatly on the shelves. The videotape was lying on the blotter, Westchester printed boldly in black Magic Marker on the label. A stick-um note was attached.

Kate, This is the file footage the local Westchester station took. An old friend from my days at NBC got it for me. There's not much here relating to Chapman. It wasn't one of his better tournaments. But the whole hero episode is on it, which happened the day before the tournament started. Then there's some footage of him teeing off for the tournament. Not much, but that's the best I could do.

Let me know if you need anything else.

Vern Taking the cartridge, Kate went to the video room, popped the tape in, and pressed Play. White, gray, and black static filled the screen before images whirled to an abrupt start, as if someone had turned the camera on suddenly, and she was hit with Jesse's image, bouncing, as if the cameraman was running toward him as he turned on the tape.

It was hard to see anything in the early morning dimness. Just the black velvet golf course as the sky started brightening to purple. She realized that Jesse was standing on a driving range, his face ravaged, shocked, his father there with him. The sight of Jesse always made her body hum with electricity, but this time her eyes narrowed, her heart slamming into her throat. She realized that something had already happened before the video started to roll.

Her heart raced as she watched the scene unfold, the frantic tension in Jesse's body. A close-up of his face, his eyes wild. But his voice was fierce and commanding as he yelled, "We need help here!"

She couldn't see anyone else around, no one to help but his father and the cameraman.

Kate's stomach clenched as the camera panned down and she saw that a woman was crumpled at Jesse's feet. No blood, just her lying there like she was asleep on the ground next to the golf clubs, a tipped-over bucket spilling a few remaining brilliant white golf balls onto green grass, and a perfect pair of men's golf shoes waiting to be put on. The scene would have been peaceful if it hadn't been for the odd angle of the body.

Kate watched, her palms damp, her heart pounding in her ears as Jesse bent over the woman, his athlete's body powerful as he started resuscitation. He worked like a machine, mouth breaths, then chest compressions. Again and again.

And his barely audible words. "Come on, come on. Come back."

If sheer will could save her, Jesse could do it. Then suddenly breath rushed into the woman.

Kate could see the relief that surged into Jesse. Then he swept her up, his strength clear in every movement, and moved away. The cameraman followed as Jesse carried the woman to a medic's tent. Then static after the flimsy door slammed shut.

Kate sat staring at the sizzling fuzz on the screen. This was what had made Jesse a hero, she knew that. He had breathed life back into that woman.

Before Kate could absorb it all, the static cleared, and the next image she saw was the camera panning up at the dark, stormy sky. It had to be the next day, when the tournament began, the winds picking up. Then a pan of the crowd, golfers, officials. And Jesse.

In the distance, someone yelled, "Yo, Jesse, you're a hero!"

But Jesse hadn't wanted to talk. He was focused, ready to start playing, he said.

Kate pressed Fast Forward, speeding through the sort of footage a sportscaster would use to highlight his or her report on the evening news. Clips of other golfers as they teed off. Putts being sunk. She didn't slow until Jesse returned to the screen. He didn't joke with the gallery as was his trademark; he was quiet. Worried. She could see the stress in his expression. Then he teed up. The sheer perfection of body and motion as he practiced his swing. Then stepping up to the ball. But his shot wasn't nearly as perfect. Jesse, the man known for his swing, shanked the ball off into the rough.

Kate continued to watch, but he must not have gotten better because the rest of the video clips focused on the tournament's top golfers, one of whom was a rookie who was playing out of his head, gaining the attention.

The remaining clips on the tape didn't show anything useful. But something bothered her, and she couldn't leave it alone.

She pressed Rewind, then started again at the beginning. Leaning forward, her concentration intense, she viewed the opening sequence over and over again until she had memorized the images. It was just before she gave up that she finally understood.

Stunned, Kate pressed Stop, her hand shaking. She sat there, just sat, until she realized that she had to find Jesse.

After a quick good-bye to Mr. Vasquez, she flew home, careening up and down the undulating hills. At red lights, she waited impatiently, praying that Jesse would be there when she arrived. With every mile she drove, the rain lessened, the storm winding down. By the time she got home, the stars and moon were trying to work their way through the clouds. And the Jeep stood in the drive.

Her relief was short-lived when she saw the tree house lying in a shambles on the ground after all their hard work.

When she banged into the guest cottage, then the house, both were empty. But she knew where he was.

She all but ran down the drive and across the street. Feeling like she was twelve years old again, she slipped through the chain-link fence, careful not to get snagged. The minute she came around the pump house, she saw him. He stood on the tee box, hidden from the street. He was beautiful, his driver in his hands, the long seventeenth fairway stretching out in front of him.

She could have watched him forever.

"I knew you'd find me," he said, the words barely audible, but he didn't turn around. "You always found me. Ever since you were old enough to get out your back door." She could just make out a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth before it hardened into a firm line. She took the remaining steps between them, stopping in front of him.

He crossed both of his hands on top of the club's grip, like he had to keep himself from touching her.

"I remember when your mom brought you home from the hospital. I wanted nothing to do with a baby,

especially not a girl. I managed to avoid you for a while- hell, a couple of years. But then one day I was playing in the yard and I heard you crying. My mom was at some meeting, and when you wouldn't stop I figured I better check things out. Even back then I sensed something wasn't right with Mary Beth."

Kate had never heard this story.

"I went to your back screen door and knocked. But no one answered. So I got myself inside and followed the noise."

"Wasn't my mother there?"

"She was. Sitting on the floor in your bedroom, crying just like you."

This time Kate looked away.

"Somehow it didn't scare me," he added. "I walked over to where you were on the bed and sat down

next to you." He reached out on the dark golf course and turned her chin back toward him. "Little imp, you stopped crying the second you looked up and saw me. You stared up at me with these gigantic eyes, and hell, you even smiled."

"Why didn't you ever tell me that?"

He shrugged. "I hated to add proof that your mom didn't know the first thing about raising kids. Besides,

I never wanted to admit that maybe we were bonded somehow. I especially didn't want to admit it to you."

"I guess I was kind of tenacious."

"Very. Do you remember sneaking into my room?"

She cringed. "Which time?"

"Exactly. There were dozens."

He was right. She knew it. But he had always been her refuge from her mother's instability.

"I'm talking about the time I'd had a big fight with Dad," he explained. "You came marching into my

room. When I told you to go away, you didn't so much as flinch. You laid down next to me, dressed in jeans and a Too Cool T-shirt, and told me to scoot over."

"I don't remember the Too Cool part."

"The next thing I know I'm telling you all about it, about how I had to work harder if I was ever going to be a truly great golfer, but my dad didn't believe I could do it. Me, fourteen, you ten, and I'm spilling my guts to a little girl."

"I do remember that," she stated. He had been serious about golf from the beginning. "You were number one on the varsity golf team at fourteen, but you said you weren't good enough."

"I wasn't. But I didn't know that until I played in the junior tournament in Albuquerque. There were guys there who were incredible. And they made me realize I wasn't good enough. If I wanted a scholarship, I had to be better. So I asked my dad to help me. When he said he was too busy, I asked to take lessons from the pro. He said no to that, too. But do you remember what you said?"

"Not exactly."

"You said that with or without my dad's help, I was going to be the greatest golfer who ever lived." His expression grew intense. "You and those damned eyes, always making me believe I could be anything I wanted to be."

"Because it was true. It still is."

He stood there forever. "Every kid deserves to have someone who believes in them-really believes and proves it. I wish I could have figured out how to do that for Travis."

"You did."

"Not in a way that makes a difference. Not in a way that will sustain him his whole life."

"Then you will. You still can." She could tell that he didn't believe her. "You're a good man." She hesitated, searching for a way to make him understand what he had at the core. "Don't give up on Travis, or yourself."

"Give up?" He laughed bitterly. "My game has fallen apart. Can you believe that, Katie? Me, who has had a club in my hand since I was a kid? Now I break out into a cold sweat whenever I'm on a tee box. That's why I can't play in the golf-off tomorrow."

"I know."