'*Where did you Uve, Sallie?"

'In a rooming house. To me it was the grandest room in the world. It was cozy and warm and it was mine, paid for every week with my own money. To this day I miss that httle square room. It was the one place I could go to and close and lock the door. I never had an inch of space that was my own, growing up."

"And now you own a whole town. It's hard for me to beheve you own almost all the buildings in this town. Those you don't own sit on your leased property. I think I understand you a little better these days. SalHe, are we ever going to talk about Philip?"

"No, Devin, we aren't. I think I've had enough sight-seeing, let's get on with whatever you have planned. One litde hint, a small clue. Please."

She's like a child sometimes, Devin thought. She's so easy to be with, so easy to love. "All good things come to those who wait."

Wait she did, for a fiill hour and thirty minutes, until Devin slowed the car and turned onto a graveled driveway. They drove for another half mile before a house sitting far back in a nest of cotton-woods came into view.

"It's beautifiil, Devin. Are you happy here?*'

"Very much so. I would be a lot happier if I had someone to come 142 Fern Michaels home to at night." Seeing the tight white line around Sallie's mouth, he hastened to add, "I didn't change anything on the exterior because I happen to love quarry stone. My uncle told me he personally carted most of the rock and stone from Black Mountain on days when business was slow. I like to think of it as my own miniature casde with those turrets on each end. I love going up those killer steps and looking out those littie paned windows. I can actually see Las Vegas from my mountaintop."

"Did your uncle have a name for this place? What do you call it?"

"To my knowledge, no, he didn't. I call it my house."

"Houses should have names. Mine is called Sunrise. My brother calls his ranch Sunbridge. Isn't that strange, Devin?"

"Not really if you stop to think about it. I think both of you, each in your own way, were searching for the sunshine in your life. What's wonderful about it is you both found it. It doesn't matter how it came to you, purchased or inherited, you have it now."

"Still, it should have a name."

"Then let's call it Sallie and Devin's house of happiness. Because . .. when we come here we'll be at our happiest."

Sallie felt her stomach crunch into a knot. What she was doing was wrong. She felt a long sigh escape her lips. Happiness was where you found it, and she'd found hers with Devin Rollins. "Sallie and Devin's house of happiness it is."

Devin put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. "If I searched the world over, I couldn't find anyone to love more than I love you."

"I feel the same way, Devin."

"Let me give you the grand tour. This is the front door. Note the hand carving. Stained glass in the little panes. Works of art, all done by my uncle. He was very good with his hands as you'll see inside." In the time it took her heart to beat once, SaUie was in his arms and being carried over the threshold. She squealed her pleasure.

"So, what do you think?"

"Oh, Devin, it's beautiful!" She looked around at the lace curtains on the windows, at the hand-carved furniture, which was neither bulky nor manly, at the colorful cushions that matched the hooked rugs on the pine floors. There were vibrant watercolors on all the walls, splashes of brilliant color in silver frames. She stared in awe at the oil painting over a quarry stone fireplace that begged for glowing embers. "That's me!"

"Yes. My uncle had a local artist go to your bingo palace every night when you were singing. He sketched your likeness first and then painted the picture. My uncle was mesmerized by your eyes. He told me once the eyes are the mirror of one's soul. He swore to me he saw your soul, and it was pure and good. The artist captured that, in my opinion."

"Good heavens, Devin, you're making me sound like an angel."

"My uncle thought you were. Mr. Easter thought you were, and so did your fi-iend Snowball and all his fiiends. Miss Ruby thinks so. It must be true."

"Is this furniture as comfortable as it looks?" Sallie said, flopping down on the nearest chair. "I love the fireplace."

"Will you spend next Christmas here with me? I know it's a long way off, but I'd love to fill this house with evergreens and be here with you."

"Yes, yes, I wiU."

"I want to make love to you in front of the fireplace. Tonight. Believe it or not, it gets downright chiUy here in the evenings once the sun goes down. There's a pile of Indian blankets in that carved chest in the comer. They're softer than feathers."

"You are a wicked, wicked man, Mr. Rollins."

"Only where you're concerned. Come along, I want to show off the rest of my house. This is my dining room. In case I ever have guests. The furniture is store bought. The rugs and the wall hangings are authentic. Note the lace curtains here also. Do they seem out of place to you, SaUie?"

"In a way."

"My uncle told me your greatest joy was seeing curtains billow in the breeze from open windows. He had them hung in case you ever came to visit."

"Truly? I wonder why he never invited me."

"Perhaps his fantasy was all he needed. The windows do open, and the curtains do billow in the breeze. He told me in your heart you're a simple person with simple pleasures. There's nothing pretentious about you, Sallie. I guess that's one of the reasons I love you so much."

"Where's the kitchen. Do you have help?"

"No. I do it all myself. I don't think I could get used to someone living in my house. I like to walk around barefoot and in my underwear."

"I do, too." SaUie giggled.

"Moving right along here, I have a bathroom off the kitchen and 144 Fern Michaels one upstairs. I had the back porch screened in so I could eat out here when I want to. All those flowers you see in those clay pots I planted from seeds."

"They're beautiful. I love flowers. I like your dual staircases. You can go upstairs from the kitchen or the living room. Were they always here?"

"Yes. Like a kid I go up one set and come down the other."

"Oh, Devin, this is so gorgeous it takes my breath away," Sallie said as she stepped into the large bedroom.

"It runs the whole length of the house. There is one smaller room at the end of that hallway that leads to the bathroom. For a housekeeper, I guess."

The carpeting was thick and luxurious, soft beige with tiny threads of chocolate yarn woven around the border. Lacy white curtains whispered in the early afternoon breeze, billowing inward in little puffing sounds. Dark earth tone draperies hung at the sides, pulled back with silver pulls. The fireplace, a duplicate of the one in the living room, held a grate filled with logs. The hearth, wide and long, held clay pots filled with plants, whose leaves were shiny and bright. The bed was high and wide enough to hold four people. A wonder-Jul playground, she thought wickedly.

"You didn't say anything about the painting," Devin whispered.

"Only because I don't know what to say. It's hard to believe I ever looked that young." Tears sprang to her eyes. Devin kissed them away.

Hours later, Sallie curled into Devin's arm. In her life she'd never been this content, this happy, this satisfied. Devin was everything a lover was supposed to be. She snuggled deeper into his embrace. "I didn't think I could ever be this happy."

"I think God has blessed us," Devin murmured against her hair. Sallie wiped at a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

All through the evening strange sounds filtered through the house and out the open windows. In the early hours of the morning, the litde house nesded in the cottonwood grove grew quiet as the occupants fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.

Simon Thornton, alias Adamjessup, sat back in his briefing chair, his eyes on the flight trainer doing the briefing. He tried to look calm, detached. He knew he looked as old as the other fighter pilots in the room, but he suddenly felt his real age. His eyes were gritty with lack Vegas Rich 147.

of sleep, but he was clean-shaven and dressed in open-necked khaki. In front of him was a green-covered table filled with coffee cups and ashtrays. Blue-gray cigarette smoke wafted upward to the metal rafters overhead.

"This is it, gendemen, so listen up. You're here because you're the best of the best. Because you're the best, you're going to stop the Japs from taking Henderson Field. I don't have to tell you what an important link in the U.S.-Australian lifeline it is. As I speak, the Japs have four carriers, two light cruisers, eight heavy cruisers, and twenty-eight destroyers out there in the Pacific just waiting for you. It's the strongest navy force since Midway. Everyone of you flight jockeys knows how to drop a bomb and hit a target. I expect you to hit your targets dead-on. No bullshit excuses, no misses. I want each one of you to take a minute and pretend your brother is one of those marines at Guadalcanal. Because that marine is your brother, come morning, you are going up there and do the job you were trained to do, blow those sons of bitches right off the map. That's it, gendemen. Grab some shut-eye and lay off the coffee."

The wardroom was blue with cigarette smoke when Simon scraped back his chair. Maybe he should take the time to write a letter home. Maybe he should sleep and dream about dying. Jesus. Just yesterday he'd had an hour-long talk with the ship's chaplain. He'd really done all the talking, expressing his fear of dying, of killing other people, and then he'd asked for something to carry with him, something to give him comfort. The chaplain, perhaps ten years older than himself, had spoken quiedy, told him if he wasn't afraid, he didn't belong aboard the Big E. He'd handed over a St. Christopher medal, explaining that it was a medal Catholics carried with them for safety. Simon dropped the medal into his breast pocket and immediately felt better. He held it in his hand now, and he felt as comforted as he had yesterday. Maybe if he kept it in his hand, he would finally be able to get some restful sleep.

"You look a litde white around the gills, Jessup. You okay?" Moss Coleman asked. "Look, you're my wingman, I have a right to be concerned about how you're feeling."

"And I have a right to be concerned about you hot-dogging it up there. You're too fucking confident for my liking. Scutdebutt has it command is worried that you take unnecessary risks v^dth the guys and the planes. If you expect me to cover your ass up there, then you better fly right, Mr. Coleman."

"Up yours, Jessup."

146 Fern Michaels Simon grinned. "Is that anyway for you to talk to the guy who's probably going to save your ass? What if I look the other way, you cocky son of a bitch?"

"Don't even think about it. You do your job, and I'll do mine. Look, all our nerves are a htde raw. I'm sorry if I got off on the v^ong foot. Let's call a truce. We're here to do a job, so I say let's do it the best way we can. We're the best of the best. Crommelin said so, and I believe him. You're a hell of a pilot, Jessup. Live up to it, and you'll be almost as good as I am."

In spite of himself, Simon griimed. He was the first to stretch out his hand. Moss Coleman's handshake was bone-crushing. Simon neither flinched nor grimaced as he exerted just as much pressure as Coleman. Both men eased up at the same moment.

"WTiere are you from, Coleman? My mother's maiden name was Coleman."

"Texas-bom-and-bred. How about you?*'

"Nevada, home of gold and silver. You have a faint resemblance to my bro . . . never mind."

"Finish what you were going to say, Jessup. I'm curious. Maybe we're related."

"You look sort of like my brother Ash. Same high cheekbones, same stance, same body build. I'm sure it's my imagination."

"No, no, the next time I write home I'll ask Pap. What's your mother's name?"

"Sallie. Her middle name is Pauline. She has five sisters, four that she hasn't seen in years and years, and two brothers. She doesn't talk much about her early life."

"Pap doesn't either. He's self-made, pulled himself up by his bootstraps and made a go of it. We have a 250,000-acre ranch back in Texas. I'm real proud of him. How about you?"

"They call my mother Mrs. Nevada. She owns the city of Las Vegas. She had some good luck and things went on from there. I think she owns the whole desert."

"What do you do with a desert?"

"I have no idea, but if there's something to do with it, my mother will figure it out. They say she's the richest woman in the country."

"Are you trying to impress me, Jessup?"

"Were you trying to impress me with your 250,000-acre ranch?"

"Yep."

'*WeU I wasn't. If I ever try to impress you, it will be with my own accomplishments, not my mother's."

"Touche, Jessup. What about your father?"

"My father is a schoolteacher."

"My mother was a schoolteacher. I'll check it out, Jessup. You got a picture of your brother?"

"Yeah, I do, want to see it?"

"You bet. I have a sister."

The two pilots exchanged snapshots. Moss Coleman was the first to speak. "You're right, I see a resemblance between your brother and me. I also see a striking similarity between your mother and my father. What do you think, Jessup?"

"I think you're right."

"Where's your brother now?"

"I have no idea. He joined up a few days after I did. We aren't exactly the best of friends. I wish it was otherwise, but it isn't going to happen."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a sister ... I like her, but Pap, he . . . frowns on me having a ... it isn't worth discussing. Like I said, I'll check this out. I think I need a little more to go on, like where did your mother live exactly."

"In a tenant shack outside of Abilene. She told me her two oldest brothers took off at an early age, and that's all she knows of them."

"Pap came from some pretty humble beginnings himself. I'm glad we had this little talk, Jessup. I'll make sure I look after you up there, you do the same."

"Okay, Coleman." This time there was no bone-crushing handshake. They clapped each other on the back before they went their separate ways, each to write a letter home.

The predawn message was from the headquarters of the commander, South Pacific Force, and signed by Admiral Bill Halsey. Brief and to the point it read: ATTACK. REPEAT. ATTACK.

Simon stood on the flight deck and watched as aircraft were raised from the hangar bay and rolled to the catapult mechanisms on the runway. Sailors in yellow jackets wearing radio headsets listened for the order to signal takeoff'. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, louder than the thrum of the engines. He looked around trying to gauge the expressions on the other pilots' faces. He 148 Fern Michaels thought he saw excitement as well as fear. He knew his own face registered only fear.

His helmet and goggles in hand, his leather jacket unzipped, Simon walked over to Moss Coleman, who was shaking hands with his best buddy, Thad Kingsley. "Gk)od luck, Coleman."

"Same to you, Jessup. I'll see you back in the wardroom."

'*You bet. Here comes my plane." For one brief moment, Simon thought he was going to lose his breakfast. The moment he climbed into the Silver Dollar, the name he'd christened his plane, he felt as one with the machine. He took smother moment to savor the feel of the St. Christopher medal inside his glove. He used up more seconds going over his checklist. Satisfied, he squirmed in his seat, his parachute grinding into his back.

The target was the thousand square miles just north of the Santa Cruz Islands.

Standing amidships. Moss saw the Silver Dollar catapult into the air, her wheels barely skimming the deck before she reached the edge. He wondered how it was possible for Adam Jessup to be a better pilot than he was. Better even than Thad Kingsley. He just knew if he peeled offjessup's shirt, he'd see a pair of wings. The guy was bom to fly, just the way he was bom to fly. They must be related somehow.

"Here comes the Texas Ranger, " Thad said quiedy. "Make damn sure you get back here in one piece, you hear me, you Texas bastard."

"I hear you, you Yankee cracker. I'll be back and you damn weU better set your wheels down right behind me."

Navy Fighter Squadron Four took to the air, eight pairs of glinting wings in the early sun. Simon flew starboard wingman for his squadron leader. Moss Coleman, holding slighdy in the V-formadon. The hunt-and-search pattern was on.

The attack came from the rear with only fifteen minutes of flying time remaining. "Zeros, up-sun, twelve o'clock!" Simon looked up, squinting, and had his first sight of the enemy. His eyes locked on the fuel gauge. He bit down on his lower lip, tasting his own blood as his hand massaged the medal inside his glove.

Curses, some he'd never heard before, were mumbled into headsets as grim and determined faces peered through the cockpit windshields. Explosive firepower flew all about the Americsin fighters. Coleman radioed their position back to headquarters. The return radio message was curt and to the point. Pursue and attack! Where there were Japanese carriers, there would be Zeros.

"Break formation," Coleman's voice ordered. "Wind around and jump from the rear."

The squadron spiraled portside and dropped to 12,000 feet. The Zeros were still on their tails. Kingsley, second port wingmaA, broke radio silence. "Squad four, Zeros hanging back. Repeat, two Zeros hanging back. Total seven enemy."

"Jessup, Kingsley, drop back and get them," Coleman commanded.