"What are you drinking?"

"I'm not. I have an early commitment in the morning."

He fingered his own drink. From the look of him, he'd had a few before coming in tonight. He lifted the tumbler and drank. When he put it down, his eyes were like shards of antique glass, deep blue and dangerous. "Well, you've satisfied appearances. Don't let me keep you."

The words reached out and slapped her. She stood up woodenly, and again he rose in the gallant gesture, but she saw the hatred in his eyes. His position kept it hidden from the rest in the room, but it was clear to her. She walked away trembling, her legs taking her straight to the hall and down to the ladies' room. She went inside, locked herself into a stall, and collapsed. She pressed her quivering knees together and dropped her head to her hands.

What was she doing? Why had she come? She jerked a swath of toilet paper from the roll and pressed it to her eyes, refusing even the semblance of tears. Did these people mean anything to her? Her friends, the popular clique, the beautiful people-they were all the same, still obsessed with appearances, still self-absorbed. Had no one changed but she?

Morgan. He had changed. The fun-loving rogue had become cruel and cynical. He'd always had a teasing streak but underneath held such a tender heart, kinder than any boy she'd known before or since. She released a slow breath. He was cruel now in a way he'd never been before. But maybe the real cruelty was hers. She had left town without a word, left him believing she'd aborted their child, left him as her parents had insisted. And they'd been right.

It took her a long time to see it. At first she'd wept continuously, clinging to a single hope. Her parents consented to her carrying the child on two conditions: one, that she give it up for adoption, and two, that she not see Morgan again. But she had hoped against hope that he would find her.

It was a foolish juvenile hope. Morgan was eighteen, hardly more mature than she, and certainly no more qualified to raise a child. Maybe he would have tried. Maybe he would have married her, but how could it have lasted? Somewhere along the way she'd stopped waiting, stopped crying. Even though her actions had been dishonest, bordering on illegal, she had done the right thing ... for her child. And God willing, she'd have the chance to do it again.

From the entrance of the ballroom, Morgan watched Jill leave the building. Maybe he'd hurt her more than he thought. Maybe she wasn't as heartless as he believed, at least when it came to herself. Never mind that she'd done away with their child. All legal and neat, of course.

He looked down at the ice in his glass, naked without the booze. He could take care of that easily enough, but he didn't. Maybe it was nostalgic sentimentality that permeated his system, but he decided to feel it instead of killing it in drink.

Fifteen years ago he'd been one raging hormone. But beyond that, there had been something special about Jill, something he hadn't found anywhere before or since. Not even Noelle, if he were honest with himself. He'd loved Jill, pure and simple.

He set the glass down on the rectangular pillar that held the gilded pot of artificial florals. He looked out into the night where she had disappeared. Maybe he should have held his tongue. She had felt awfully good under his hand. They could have danced, for old times' sake. He could have held her. Now there was a painful jolt.

Maybe he'd have that drink after all. But he looked into the room, massed with people he'd left behind, and shook his head. He'd given his check, made an appearance. And the only reason for coming had left. He did, too.

He took a red-eye to Denver, redeemed his car from long-term parking, and headed for the mountains. Soon he'd go off again to conquer giants and prove his prowess. He had set the guys on their ears talking about his recent years' successes. But after all, he had been voted most likely to succeed.

And succeed he had. He drove from the airport, his Thunderbird handling like the sweet road machine it was. His blood alcohol was probably more than marginal after several drinks on the flight, but he was in control. Juniper Falls came into sight sooner than he'd made it before. He'd rocked those curves tonight.

The ranch was dark, naturally, with Rick and Noelle snuggled up together in the master suite Rick had remodeled so capably. Rick's baby was probably sleeping between them inside his mother as content as a little cub could be. Why not?

He pulled to an abrupt halt before the porch, climbed out, and staggered slightly. Whoa. Not so clear as he'd thought. He gathered his senses. Just stiff and tired. He climbed the stairs and let himself in with the key Rick loaned him.

He stood in the darkness of the vast main room and looked up the winding stairs to where his brother and sister-in-law slept in marital bliss. On second thought, maybe he wasn't quite ready for sleep. He went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet he'd stocked on arrival.

Ah yes. Crown Royal. Just the ticket. He sat down at the kitchen table and unscrewed the lid of the bottle. No glass? And he was drinking alone. Dangerous, Morgan. He lifted the bottle in lonely salute.Here's to living dangerously.

He heard the soft step before he got the bottle to his lips. Noelle, in a green floor-length velour robe. Her hair hung loose and her eyes were sleepy as she came in and sat down across the table. He gripped the bottle protectively.

Gently, she covered his hand with hers. "Don't, Morgan."

He formed a wry smile. "Those words are inseparably joined in your mind, Noelle." But he let go the bottle and took her hand instead, remembering all the times she'd pulled away, all his efforts she'd rebuffed. Of course, he hadn't known then how she'd been hurt. He'd only seen someone who might have filled the void.

She said, "You saw Jill?"

He raised a single eyebrow. "I guess Rick's been blabbing."

"He told me a long time ago. Not her name, though. That I learned tonight."

He looked down at the diamond on her finger, remembering the first time he'd seen it, the day Rick had put it on there. Morgan had kissed her anyway and rendered his brother an avenging angel.

She slipped her hand away, stood, and reached for the coffee beans and grinder. Ah yes, coffee to sober up the drunk.

"What's she like?"

He shrugged. "I knew her at seventeen." He tipped the bottle to his mouth, pouring the booze down his throat. May as well perfect his condition before she waged war against it. "I was not the judge of character then that I am today."

"What was she like at seventeen?"

He clunked the bottle to the table. "You don't want to hear this." She sat back down and took his hand before he could wrap it around the bottleneck again. "Tell me, Morgan."

"She was every guy's dream. Cheerleader with brains, accelerated a full year, even. Great sense of humor and class. She danced-as well as you, only looser, not so trained. Her smile ..." He sighed. "Her smile sank in like syrup." He shook his head, then squeezed his temples with his free hand. "She killed my kid. Did you know that part?"

"Yes."

He made a fist inside her palms. He was babbling, too drunk to stay unemotional. He would never bare himself like this otherwise.

"She was very young, Morgan. You don't realize the kind of pressure ..."

"I was young, too, Noelle." Too young to know anything about anything. Though he'd thought he had all the answers.

"But you weren't the one with the immediate problem. You could have walked away."

He jerked his hand out of hers. "I didn't walk away. I would have taken care of her."

"She was a minor. It wasn't up to you or to Jill."

He closed his eyes and hung his head back. "They acted like I was the arch fiend."

"It was their daughter."

"They wouldn't let me see her. Wouldn't let me talk to her even once. It all came down the week we graduated, and then she was gone. She never even tried." She could have found him. His parents would have told her he was at Wharton. One phone call. But she'd never made it. Sure they were kids, and they'd screwed up. Rick would say they had violated God's law. Morgan knew that, and maybe that was why he actively courted hell.

He sat in morose silence, then said, "She had her hair all cut short.

It used to be long like yours, and I liked it that way. But she looked even better with it short. All kind of puffed and feathery around her face like Meg Ryan on a good day."

"Is it blond?"

He nodded slowly. "Kind of silvery, not golden like yours. Gray eyes. She's kept her figure, too, not like some of them. But then, they've had kids." The words tasted bitter.

She didn't let him stay there. "Did you speak with her?"

"Not very nicely." He said it with regret. What if he could have been civil? Would he be sitting now with Jill instead of his brother's wife?

"Don't blame yourself, Morgan."

He slumped. "Who else is there?"

Rick was awake when Noelle crept back into bed in the dark. He'd heard their voices but stayed where he was. He raised the covers, drew Noelle close, and said, "Morgan?"

She nodded against his neck. "He saw Jill."

Rick released a slow breath. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed it, but he'd really thought the Lord would provide some closure so Morgan could quit punishing himself. "How bad is he?"

"He passed out the minute he hit the bed."

No surprise there.

"He once accused me of hiding inside a shell. Alcohol is his."

"How long were you downstairs?"

She tucked her head into the hollow of his neck. "Long enough for him to vent instead of drowning it. I wish I knew how to help."

"He's too successful to hit bottom and get real help."

"Why can't God-"

"It doesn't work that way. We pray for him. Mom's worn her knees out, and Dad, too. But God doesn't force the cure. Morgan has to want it."

"Then what's the point in praying?"

Rick shifted her in his arms. Noelle's faith was new and as fragile as her emotions. He felt the responsibility of nurturing and protecting her. "Lots of points we don't see." He stroked the hair back from her temples. "Like keeping him alive long enough to find his way. How many curves did he take tonight?"

She closed her eyes, probably picturing the mountain highway.

"And keeping others safe when he drives with no one to stop him. All the things we can't see that might bring Morgan to his knees. Maybe even what happened tonight."

"He was cruel to her."

Rick tightened his arms around her. "Well, it's complicated."

"Do you blame her, too?" Noelle's voice had the thinnest edge. He must tread carefully. Abortion was murder. He knew that in his deepest soul. Nothing would change his mind, no mitigating circumstances no matter how difficult. But Noelle wouldn't necessarily understand, having been victimized. Maybe Jill had been victimized by Morgan's advances. Certainly Morgan should have known better. But to kill the baby ... what that had done to Morgan and the pain it had caused his own family ...

He released a hard breath. "I can't judge her."

"But you blame her." Her voice had a tremor. Some part of her own woundedness had been triggered. "You have no idea what fragility forced her decision."

Fragility? Noelle was fragile in body and spirit, broken as a child by a perverse fiend. Jill was not fragile. His memories of her were vibrant, peppered with touch football and pompons and long legs running hard. Morgan had fallen for her in pure Morganesque abandon and hadn't stopped falling yet.

"I'm not sure he wasn't the more fragile of the two."

Noelle considered that for a silent moment. "He pretends nothing fazes him, but he's not very good at it. It must have really hurt."

Rick stroked a strand of hair from her cheek. "Partly because of how it came down. Jill was ripped out of his life with no real closure." "Still, it was so long ago."

"You'd understand if you'd seen them together. And he didn't just lose Jill." Rick spread his hand over her belly. "How do you think I'd feel if you took this life from me now? Destroyed our child and there was nothing I could do?"

She pressed her hand over his. "Don't even say that."

"I just want you to see why Morgan can't let it go."

She stroked his forearm. "That's why you wanted him at the reunion."

"I don't think it was me. I think the Lord wanted him there. I have ... a great unease in my spirit."

"For Morgan?"

Rick nodded. "We don't agree on much, but he's been there for me in more ways than I can name. Even before you made things interesting."

She pushed his chest softly.

He kissed her temple. "Go to sleep. Soon enough we won't have these long, quiet nights."

She nestled in and they both dropped into silence. Too soon he woke with a jolt to find her trembling and thrashing. He caught her tightly in his arms. "Noelle. Stop. It's just a dream."

She opened teary eyes and gasped, "The baby."

Rick placed his hand there, instinctively protecting the life inside. "The baby's fine."

She pressed her face into his chest. "I dreamed he took her."

"Michael?" The ex-fiance who had battered Noelle and triggered memories of her early abuse.

She shook her head. "No. It was the other face."

The kidnapper she had thought of as God. "He can't hurt you." But Rick wondered again if she would ever be free of it. If sharing Morgan's trouble triggered her pain ..."

He's out there somewhere. They never caught him."

Because she'd been released as soon as her father gave up prosecuting the case. No one knew then what damage had already been done. Rick rubbed his hand over her belly. "Our baby's safe. That's why you have me."

She looked into his face, green eyes awash. "Hold me, Rick."

He did. He kissed her mouth. "I love you." It swelled up and filled him until it almost brought tears of his own.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

And he settled her in tight to his chest. She was the Lord's gift, no matter how painfully it had come.

CHAPTER.