The mixture of clouds and stars trying to break through lit the night enough that she could see Jesse flinch. Then he pivoted around to look at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw some videotape of Westchester."

She had never seen any man look so vulnerable. His jaw worked, the cords in his neck bulging with tension-and maybe with a little hope that he didn't have to keep his secret anymore.

She couldn't do anything else when she tucked herself close to this strong man, hugging him tight. For half a second, he let her hold him, though his arms hung at his sides. His breath was ragged, dragged in sharply, harshly expelled. After an eternity, a haunting groan broke out of him loudly enough to startle a small flock of sleeping birds out of the overhanging tree. Then he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder.

"Oh, Jesse," she whispered, and pressed her palms to the broad planes of his back as if she could

somehow heal him. "Why won't you talk about it? You saved her life. I saw how you wouldn't give up. You really are a hero."

He broke away from her. "I'm not a hero. Davis was right. She never should have needed to be saved."

"He also implied that you hit her with the club."

"Fuck."

"Tell me what happened, Jesse. I want to hear the truth from you."

He grabbed her arms desperately, like giving in, finally letting the words rush out of him. "It was nearly

dark and she came out of nowhere, screaming and screaming at me. Jesse! She ran onto the driving range right in the middle of a swing. The club caught her in the chest and she went down."

That was what the camera hadn't captured, the moments that led to the collapse.

"You said yourself that she ran out, Jesse. She got in the way. You can't blame anyone for that."

He closed his eyes, no doubt remembering.

"Jesse, you did save her." "Again, like Tommy said, she never should have needed to be saved. Then the next thing I know, everyone's calling me a hero. But for the first time I really saw who I had become. Who I was. I watched news report after news report showing me and my life. Thirty-second spots. Sixty-second spots. Three- and four-minute exposes on Jesse Chapman over the years. It was like I saw myself crystallized, distilled down to the essence of who I really was. The bad boy, the wild guy. And I didn't like who I saw. On top of that, I realized I was everything Derek says I am." He shook his head. He even half laughed, a bitter sound wrenched from his chest. "Derek is right. I have been drinking and screwing women for longer than I can remember."

"Maybe that's really why you're a hero."

He looked at her as if she had gone crazy. "What are you talking about?"

"Despite the life your father led you to, you survived. And despite your dad being anything but a father,

you've done lots of things right. Heck, look what you've done for Travis when you easily could have given Belinda money and washed your hands of the situation. Or take me. You have always tried to do right by me. And that woman, no matter what happened, you saved her ... and you're willing to let people believe you hit her when it wasn't you at all."

His entire body went still.

"Your father hit her, not you, but just like you've been doing for years, you protected him."

He started to pace. "You can't know that."

"Sure I can. You're not saying a word about what happened to the press or anyone because if you did, you'd have to say that your father hit her. You're protecting him just as you protected him when you were young and people were concerned that he wasn't being a good enough father. When teachers questioned you, you said how great he was. You made up all sorts of great, normal, father-son things that you said the two of you did together, instead of admitting the truth. I remember, Jesse. I heard you say plenty of stuff about your dad that I knew wasn't true. And just minutes ago I watched that video of Westchester over and over again. Then it finally dawned on me. Your father was holding the club. Not you."

"Dad with a club doesn't prove anything."

"Doesn't it? I'm willing to bet that you never even picked up a club that morning." Her toned softened. "What professional golfer hits almost an entire bucket of balls in street shoes?"

He stared at her hard, cornered.

"Once I realized that, I went through the tape one last time, and that's when I finally looked at your father- standing there, holding the club, his face white, scared. He was the one hitting balls that morning. He was the one who hit her, Jesse. Not you. And you can't spend the rest of your life trying to protect him."

"Is that how you plan to save your career? By reporting that? If that's the case, let me add to your story. Carlen was furious because I hadn't acknowledged him at a players' dinner the night before. His dream was of being like Tiger Woods's father, getting the gratitude, getting the kind of hug Tiger gave his dad after he won the Masters. How many times has the world seen that video clip? How many times has my father said that would be us one day? But that night when I got up to speak, when I had a chance to acknowledge him, he was drinking, making a scene as usual. I stood there at the podium and all I felt was a bone-deep weariness. I was tired of it; I was tired of him. So I didn't say a word of acknowledgment." He groaned, then cursed. "I left him sitting there, then I went home with that woman-"

Her shoulders stiffened in surprise. "The one you saved?"

"Exactly. Do you like that part for your story? Is that sordid enough for you?"

"Jesse, stop doing this."

"What do you mean, stop? You're the one who came out here wanting to talk. So I'm talking. I left my dad at the dinner. Went home with that woman. Then I left her before she woke in the morning." His eyes were damning. "Is that heroic?"

She didn't know what to say to the pain in his voice.

"I went straight from her house to the driving range. I didn't want to see anyone. But Dad was already there, drunker, angrier. And looking for a fight." Jesse dropped his head in his hands. "Dad was furious, telling me he could have been a better player, that he had been a better player. But that I'd been lucky. He had already gotten my clubs out. With every accusation he spat at me, he hit a ball, wild, out of control. I've never felt so tired in all my life. But angry, too. I started yelling back, which only made him angrier, swinging wildly, ball after ball. Then out of nowhere that woman came barreling up, mad as hell that I had made love to her, then left her. I might not have hit her myself, but whatever happened out there that day, I caused it as surely as if I had swung the fucking club."

With angry movements, he snatched up his ball and tee, then his clubs. When he straightened, his face was ravaged, and it tore her apart. She reached out to him, touching his face. "I love you, Jesse-and you have to stop blaming yourself."

He didn't move, but he closed his eyes when she trailed her ringers down his cheek to his neck, before she placed her hand over his heart.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a car drive by. But the world was blocked out by trees, bushes, and the gently humming pump house.

He bowed his head, and she could feel the strong beat of his heart. He didn't move, and she felt a stab of hope.

But when she stepped closer, he straightened and looked her in the eye.

"You've always loved me, whether I deserved it or not. But don't stand there and tell me I'm a hero.

I'm not. And no matter how much you want to believe that I am, I never will be."

"That's where you're wrong. You are a hero. And there are plenty of people who know it. Stay, play in the golf-off, and prove it to yourself. You deserve that. And so does Travis."

"You don't understand, Kate. I can't play. Not for you. Not for Travis."

"But you have to!" Her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing. "You have to try."

"I'm sorry. It's not going to happen. Not with me. Besides, you don't need me." He looked at her forever, then leaned forward and kissed her on the brow. "You're going to do great."

Then he disappeared through the chain-link fence. Kate stared after him, too filled with dread to move.

TWENTY-THREE.

Dear Katie,

I've made arrangements with Derek to make sure Travis is returned to his mother. Please tell him that I'm sorry.

Knock 'em dead, my sweet little Katie. All you need to make your golf-off a huge success is your charm and Bobby Mac on the course. I called Harvey Mendle and got him to take my place.

Forgive me. Jesse He really had left.

She knew he told her he couldn't play, that his game had fallen apart. But in quiet moments she had hoped, believed, prayed that he wouldn't really leave her. Deep down, she understood that her pain wasn't about the game. This wasn't about the golf-off. It was about the fact that yet again the one person she had always loved had left her.

"No," she cried, crumpling the note in her hand as she raced out the back door into the early morning darkness, then across the yard to the guest cottage.

Somewhere in her mind she registered that the Jeep was gone. But it wasn't until she pushed inside the tiny house, saw his belongings missing, that she couldn't hope any longer. Jesse was gone.

"Not again."

Kate whispered the words, closing her eyes, the note still clutched in her hand. Her chest tightened, her

throat working as she held back the burn of tears. "We could have worked something out. We were working it out. We could have worked this out together."

But that wouldn't happen. Not now.

With a jerk, she slammed out and returned to the main house. She reeled off the names of presidents;

she went through every state capital. But New Mexico stumped her. She never missed New Mexico.

New Mexico was easy. But the capital eluded her.

She sat down hard, dropping her head into her hands.

Jesse was gone.

The sun had just started to turn the black to a deep shade of purple, and she covered her despair with anger. It was easier that way, like pushing dirty socks and jumbled clothes into the closet and closing the door-making it possible to believe that the room was neat and tidy, organized and orderly.

Soon the sky would brighten, and all of El Paso would be waiting to see Jesse Chapman take on Bobby Mac McIntyre-a match between the city's heroes. Two men who had made them proud. But Jesse wouldn't be there.

She felt sick at heart-for herself, yes, but as reality began to sink in, she remembered that she wasn't the only one who would be hurt by Jesse's leaving.

"Kate?"

The sound of Travis's voice brought her head up with a start. He stood in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She stared at the boy. Jesse's departure hurt her deeply. But she was afraid it would devastate his son.

Thoughts swirled, her mind tried to drift.

"Santa Fe," she whispered. "The capital is Santa Fe."

"Huh?"

She shook herself. "Nothing. Sorry. Come over here and sit down."

His eyes narrowed. "Jesse really left, didn't he?"

So much for breaking it to him slowly.

"He had to leave, Travis. He has a ... business problem that he has to deal with. It has nothing to do