"Because I don't want a handout. I work my tail off. I put in long hours. If I'm running this business, then I should be running it, not you. Each time I make a suggestion you turn it down. Tell me, why do you need me? Or, am I like the employees at the bingo palaces?" he asked bitterly.

"No. Not at all. I thought . . . you have a family . . . you need to spend time . . . give me the bottom line, Ash."

"Sell. Make provisions for the employees. Move with the times. If you insist on standing still, I'm going to have to do more than think about Pop's offer."

"Have you discussed this with Fanny?"

"Yes," Ash lied.

"And she's in a^eement?"

"Yes," Ash lied again.

"You're lying to me, Ash. Even as a small boy I could always tell when you were lying to me. I'm your mother, you don't ever have to lie to me."

Ash dug his heels into the carpet. Son of a bitch. "Fanny's my wife, she'll do whatever I want. I think she's pregnant, so she won't be interested in business matters."

"Again! My, God, Ash, the poor girl hasn't recovered from her last pregnancy. You're blackmailing me, Ash. I won't tolerate that. Where's Fanny?"

"Sunrise. She'll be coming back any day now. We won't be availing ourselves of your hospitahty any longer. I'll take care of my family by myself."

"I see."

"You don't see at all."

"Yes, Ash, I do see. You're doing the exact same thing you did as a child. If you didn't get your way, you packed up your toys and went off by yourself. You can't do that now, you have a family to think about. This isn't the navy, Ash. We aren't your subordinates that you can order around. You have to stop being so selfish and think about your family instead of yourself"

"I am thinking about them. What the hell do you think this is all about?"

312 Fern Michaels "Taking control away from me. Being in the driver's seat. Isn't that the latest expression?"

"I don't know. That's not what this is all about. I won't be your flunky, Mom. I guess we don't have anything else to say to each other. I'll finish out the night and lock up. Tomorrow you can hire someone else."

"Ash, you need to talk to Fanny about this."

"I'm pretty damn sick and tired of hearing about Fanny this and Fanny that. Fanny does what I want when I want it."

"Ash, do you hear yourself? Fanny is a person. You don't own her."

"Neither do you!" Ash shot back. "I think you think you do, though. You've given her everything in the world. Well, guess what, we're giving the car back because we can't afford two cars. We don't need your household help anymore either. You aren't her goddamn mother. You're my mother! It would be nice if you would act like a mother sometime. Shit, I don't know why I even bothered to try and talk to you. Stay out of my life and Fanny's too!" * "Ash . . . wait!"

The slam of the door sounded like an explosion.

Sallie stepped out of the ghttery blue stage gown and into street clothes. She was moving around in slow motion, robot fashion. The phone was in her hand. She didn't remember picking it up. "Devin . . . Devin ... oh, Devin ... I need you."

"I had no idea this was such a big operation," Ash said, three days later as his father gave him a tour of the R & R Ranch. "I'm sorry. Pop, that I haven't been out here."

"That's okay, Ash. People tend to shy away from you when you tell them you're in the chicken business. It's very profitable. Actu-2illy, we bring in more money than the Silver Dollar and the bingo palaces put together. Simon just told me that a few weeks ago. I'm pretty proud of that, Ash."

"You should be. Pop," Ash said, clapping him on the back. "Refrigeration trucks, Pop. Expansion is the way to go. You have to move with the times. Mom can't see that. I tried to explain, but she didn't want to listen. You should be able to cover all the surrounding states. Hell, if you want to spring for a plane, I can make your deliveries. I^t's kick that one around."

"I'm your man, son. Let's go into the office and huddle. I'm open for any and all suggestions. Are you sure I'm paying you enough?" "It's a fair wage, Pop. I'll work my ass off for you, you know that.

I have a wife and three kids, maybe four soon, to support. How's the other . . . end of the business doing?"

Philip laughed. "I try not to get involved. Red tells me she can't count the money fast enough, so I guess it's doing okay. Ash, is this going to cause a problem with your mother?"

"Pop, the day I was born I became a problem for Mom. We both know that. I guess so. Then again, maybe not. I'm not going to worry about it. Let's talk about a plane and see how far we're v^dlling to go in our expansion efforts. It's good to be working with you, Pop."

Fanny emerged from the doctor's office in a daze. She was pregnant. She started to cry as she stepped into Bess's waiting car.

"It's only nine months out of your life, Fanny. You love kids, and you're going to love this one too. The t^ins have each other, and now Sunny will have a sister or brother. It's important for kids to have companions. The time will go fast, you'll see."

"It's not the pregnancy, it's the way it happened. I was careless, but in my own defense, I think Ash planned it all; I just got caught up in the moment. God, I haven't even lost the weight from Sunny's birth. Four months of morning sickness, weight gain, birth, weight loss, crying babies. No more household help. I don't know if I can do it, Bess."

"I hate to point this out, Fanny, but you don't have a choice."

"I could get an abortion if I knew where to go to get it. I've thought about it. Things aren't going that well between me and Ash. To bring another child into the world doesn't make sense. As you know. Ash is working with his father and making twice the money he was making working for Sallie. Philip bought a plane and Ash makes deliveries. He seems to like what he's doing. Philip is ecstatic to have Ash working with him. Ash told me . . . actually, he forbade me to see Sallie. I refused to go along with that, so we aren't speaking. I keep thinking, maybe it's time for me to pack up and go back to Shamrock. I didn't think it was possible to be so unhappy and miserable. Sallie is beside herself I don't know what to do, Bess."

"WTien I don't know what to do, I don't do anything. That's the best advice I can give you. Whatever you do, I'm on your side. So is John."

314 Fern Michaels "It shouldn't be like this, choosing up sides. What kind of marriage is this? What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Fanny. It's that jackass you married that's done everything wrong. If you start blaming yourself, I swear, I'm going to give you a good kick. Let's go out to lunch, you're eating for two now. My treat."

"I can't, Bess. I have to get home, my sitter has another sitting job for one o'clock."

Left to her own devices, Fanny fed and diapered Sunny and settled the twins with a huge basket of blocks before she picked up the phone to call Billie. The moment she heard her voice, Fanny relaxed.

"Billie, I need to talk with you. Let me just blurt everything out quickly so I can get it over with. I'm pregnant. Ash is working for his father. He sold my car, he forbids me to talk with Sallie, he made me get rid of all my household help. I can't Uve like this. I refuse to stand around and wait for my husband to make an appearance, to say a kind word. I will never again prostitute myself for a smile or a pat on the head."

"I understand all too well, Fanny. When Moss returned things were wonderful for a little while. Little by litde, things started to go downhill. At first I blamed it on his being a prisoner of the Japanese. As time went on I realized Moss is Moss, and he isn't going to change. He's so busy running Coleman Aviation, he doesn't have time for me or anyone else. That isn't quite true-he has time for his father. I take it one day at a time."

"Is there anything I can do, Billie?"

"Be my friend. My greatest joys these days are my children and my friendship with you."

"Oh, Billie, I feel the same way. I don't want to live like this. I need to have a life. You need a life too. If it has to be separate from Ash and yours has to be separate from Moss, so be it. I think I'm ready to go into business, and I want you to be a part of the business. I'm going to need advice, help, and support. Bess is ready to jump in with both feet. Tell me again, Billie, that you think we can do this, tell me that you have faith in me. I need to hear the words."

The words were kind, gende, and full of approval. Fanny sighed with relief "Billie, I need to tell you about Jake. Just listen, okay?"

"Talk, Fanny, I'm listening."

A long time later, her confidence restored with Billie's encour- agement, Fanny said, "We can use Jake's money to start up the business. When we begin making a profit, I'll put his money back . . . into an escrow account... or something. I want to think of it as bor-rodng, not just. . . you know, taking it. It's going to work, I can feel it. It will be ours, BUlie. It will be our legacy to our children.''

Sunny's Togs, the whimsical line of children's wear created in a small sewing room on a mountaintop overlooking the city of Las Vegas, would one day have its shares listed on the New York Stock Exchange.

Part Three.

fa:=9.

The Family.

1961-1966.

The town known as Las Vegas had changed gready in die eighteen years since Fanny was hijacked at gunpoint aboard a bus bound for California. Perched on the edge of the Mojave Desert, and on the edge of the Colorado River, the town was like a shooting star, twinkling overhead, twenty-four hours a day.

Some called the city a gambling mecca with top name entertainment, luxurious accommodations, miles and miles of glittering neon, showgirls in skimpy outfits, and casino come-ons. Fanny Thornton and her family called it home.

The Thorntons had changed, too, in those eighteen years as babies passed through childhood into their teen years, and parents read college manuals and brochures, and began to plan for the day when there would be only two people at the dinner table instead of six.

Sunrise, now Fanny's, thanks to SalHe's generosity on Fanny's thirtieth birthday, had also changed. It was no longer a dark and somber place. These days it was filled with comfortable chintz-covered furniture, colorful rugs, pastel walls, and sheer curtains. Green plants were everywhere, thanks to Chue's green thumb. Children's voices, dogs barking, music, television, ringing phones, attested to the fact that this place called Sunrise was fmally a home.

Weekdays the Thornton children attended private school in town. They returned Friday evenings with friends who stayed the weekend to swim, play tennis, or ski. At those times the house rocked with sounds of laughter and good times. It was the same during the summer months and over hohdays. Fanny likened it all to a year-round picnic minus the ants.

They were older now, these children of hers; Birch and Sage were sixteen, going on seventeen, Sunny was almost sixteen, and Bil-Ue was fourteen. The girls anguished over pimples, hairdos, boys, and the telephone, while the boys tried to hide their dismay over their lack of muscle tone, their skin flaws, and the fact that the phone calls were never for them, but for their sisters.

320 Fern Michaels The Thornton children were close not only in age, but in their relationships as well. It was okay to fight occasionally, okay to tease, but only within the family. Any outsider who had the audacity to try the same thing found himself not only verbally but physically abused by all four Thornton children. On more than one occasion Fanny had to step between the youngsters to make them apologize and shake hands. Most times there were no hard feelings, and the visiting kids never made the same mistake again.

The twins, Birch and Sage, were normal in every way, regular guys to their friends, jerks to their sisters, caring, loving, respectful sons to their mother. They had chores like their friends, received allowances, made their own beds, helped Chue in the garden and greenhouses, carried out the trash, and in general never complained when Fanny asked them to do something. Each night they kissed and hugged their mother before going upstairs to bed. They were good students, in the top three percent of their class. Their goal was to be accepted to West Chester University in Pennsylvania to study accounting and business management so they could take over the business end of their mother's company, Sunny's Togs, a three-million-dollar-a-year business.

Sunny's Togs, Fanny's fledgling business started in her sewing room, had grown slowly, profitably, over the years, thanks to Fanny's diligence, Sallie's business expertise, and Billie Coleman's knowledge of the textile business.

Fanny referred to Sunny's Togs as a contained business, selling her children's clothing only in Nevada and Texas. Limiting sales to certain states had been BiUie's idea, for better quality control, she said. Sallie had taken it one step farther. When something is unavailable, she said, people will do anything to get their hands on it. Expand one state at a time had been her advice. Be good to your employees, be smart enough to know when enough money is enough, and share the rest. It was sound advice, advice Fanny followed to the letter. The result was that in 1955 Sunny's Togs took ofTlike a rocket and exploded into the retail market. A corporate office was established in downtown Las Vegas. Bess Noble, with absolutely no experience, stepped in and took over the operation armed only with Fanny's confidence in her ability. "We're both dumb as dirt, Bess, that's why it will work. We'll both learn from our mistakes, and you know I'll never come down on you for doing something wrong. Someday, Bess, we're going to be known nationally. Mark my word!"

Six years later, net revenues were in the double digit millions.

Sunny, her father's look-alike, was a boisterous, gangly, curly-headed kid who loved to swear and torment her brothers, all the while wearing a perpetual smile. She could shinny up the cotton-woods faster than either one of the twins, and shinny down even faster, laughing uproariously as the boys got tangled in the branches and, more often than not, fell out of the tree. She could pedal her bike faster, run longer distances, swim twice as far, and in general, best her brothers in every endeavor.

Young BiUie was an outgoing child whose main interest in Ufe was her mother's business. At the age of six, she discovered paper dolls. Never satisfied with the few cutouts on the pages, she made her own, her chubby fingers drawing and cutting until she had exactly what she wanted. At seven she started designing clothes for her dolls- clothes Fanny sewed for her until the day Sallie showed up on their doorstep with a sewing machine just for Billie. From that day on, every outfit she designed and sewed for her favorite doU Cissie was a work of art. She loved sewing buttons on the sample garments for her mother, loved copying the whimsical suns that went on the patch pockets or shoulder straps, loved packing up the boxes to be taken to United Parcel. When she was twelve and in bed with a vicious cold, she designed a romper suit that she'd cut and stitched by hand. The romper, banded at the legs with miniature sun decals, was the following year's best-seller. The original, tacked, matted, and framed, hung in the workroom with all of her mother's original designs.

Fanny's studio, or workroom as she preferred to call it, was the cottage Chue had lived in before his family started to grow. Sallie had built him a house farther down the mountain the year she deeded the house to Fanny. With Billie and Bess's help, Fanny had renovated the cottage. The workroom was a bright cheerful space filled with easels, drafting tables, stools, and hassocks. Four deep, bright red chairs flanked the fieldstone fireplace. A round oak table covered with swatches, designs, catalogs, and design books sat in the middle. One corner was designated as kitchen area, with a small stove, mini refrigerator, colorful cabinets, and a small wrought-iron table with four chairs. To the far left, twin beds with a small dresser in between welcomed Fanny when she felt the need to catnap or spend the night if she was working late. But it was the fireplace area that was Fanny's favorite place, especially when Billie and Bess were visiting. They would talk about their husbands, their children, their 322 Fern Michaels desires, and when they finished widi that, they'd switch to business. Other times, it was a gathering place for her and her children when a problem surfaced and needed to be talked out and resolved. Cocoa, a fire, and an open mind made it a sanctuary.

Often she crept dowai here to "her place" in the middle of the night to sort things out when Ash would come home on one of his rare visits, drunk and angry.

Fanny knew she should have gotten a di^orce years ago. Ever hopeful, she'd thought things would change, but they hadn't. Once she'd mentally criticized Sallie for staying in a loveless marriage, professing not to understand the strange relationship, and now she was doing the same thing. Did she still love Ash? The children asked her that all the time, and her standard stock answer was always the same: "of course." Children needed stability, two parents. Not that Ash ever acted like a parent. Oh, he was a big giver, arridng on an occasional weekend with new bicycles, games, toys, outrageous jewelry for the girls. If an item was buyable. Ash bought it and handed it over with a flourish. Then he'^ suggest a game of tennis with "the old man" and played the game to the bitter end. It wasn't a game to Ash, it was a batde and there could only be one winner. Ash Thornton. The twins hated the games, but Sunny practiced dili-gendy, went to a month-long summer tennis camp, and walloped her father soundly at the age of thirteen. The twins cheered her wildly, their fists shooting in the air each time she made her father race for her serve. After that there were no more tennis matches.

Fanny's heart started to race the moment she heard the sound of Ash's car on the gravel driveway. She tried to remember the last time he'd been home-six weeks ago, maybe longer. It was the middle of the day. What was he doing here? She ran to the powder room and quickly fluffed her hair and added fresh lipstick. At the last second .she spritzed some perfume on her wrists and hated herself for doing it. Her husband was home.

She saw Sunny walk around the corner of the house, wheeling her bike. Even from this distance she could see the smoldering anger on her daughter's face. It could only mean trouble. She remembered that Sunny hadn't been satisfied with her tennis win. She'd challenged Ash to a father/daughter bike race up and down the mountain roads. The twins had set up an obstacle course, a start line, and a finish line with strips of red satin ribbon. She'd heard them planning it.

She watched now as Ash, fit and trim, embraced his children, grinning as he pummeled his young sons. He cocked his head to the side and grinned as the boys raced off to stretch the finish fine ribbon between uvo trees. Sunny was leaning against a tree, stretching her legs and doing squats.

Fanny walked outside just as Ash gave his famous thumbs-up salute and took ofi'like a whiz. Sunny started out slow, her long muscular legs pumping steadily. Every time she passed her father, she gave him a raspberry, crossing the fmish line ten seconds ahead of him. She was leaning against a tree, sipping a Coca-Cola, a botde in her hand for her father, when he finally crossed the line. Ash, his eyes murderous, knocked the soda out of her hand as he threw his bike into the bushes.

Fanny ran after her husband, shouting his name as he headed for his car. She was forced to step back when he ignored her and backed up his car so fast that gravel spewed up, striking Fanny's chest. Still she cried, "Ash, wait, come back!"

Fanny held out her arms, gathering her children together, and headed for her studio, where they sat on the red chairs, not to discuss their father's poor sportsmanship, but to console her, to try and wipe away the devastation they saw in her eyes.

"I did it for you. Mom," Sunny said. "At least I thought I did. I hate the way he treats you. I hate it that you put up with it." She turned on her brothers like a tiger. "If I ever see you act like that, Fll punch you silly. You hear me! Look at the both of you, you're six feet tall, you weigh as much as Dad. It's time for you to start acting like the man of the house around here since we don't have one we can count on on a daily basis. There's two of you, how hard can it be?"

"You know what, litde sister, you're absolutely right. For once in your life. Starting right now, we are assuming Dad's role." Birch rubbed his hands together gleefully. "This is the way it's going to fly. Sunny, you will set the table every night. Billie, you will clear. Starting tomorrow, you girls will make our beds, meaning me and the other man of the house."

"And while we're doing all of that, what are you two jerks going to be doing?" Sunny demanded.

"Acting like the man of the house. Nothing! It's what you wanted. You should have paid more attention when Chue was telling us 324 Fern Michaels about all those old Chinese proverbs. Remember the one that goes like this ... be careful what you wish for because you might get it. I rest my case."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Sunny sputtered.

"That's enough," Fanny said. "All of you, I appreciate all you've done and said. You worry too much. Your father . . . isn't happy, that's the best answer I can give you. I don't know what it is that can make him happy. I've asked, but he's never given me an answer. He loves all of you. I know this in my heart. Sunny, you're too hard on him.''

"In a pig's eye."

"Time to go in and see about dinner," Fanny said, getting up from the hearth.

"I think we should have a big plate of. . . C/?OHTor you guys!" Sunny shouted as she barreled out of the studio, her brothers in hot pursuit.

"I wish I was more like her," BiUie said, following Fanny to the house.

"If you were like Sunny, then you wouldn't be you," Fanny said, putting her arms around her younger daughter. "I love you just the way you are."

"Mom, did you ever nodce that Dad can never remember my name? He has to do that mental thing, his face goes blank, he starts to fumble for his words and just when you think he's going to give up, he remembers. That doesn't say much for me, does it?"

Fanny was tired of lying to her children about their father. There would be no more lies. "Uh-huh. I think he resents your name a lit-de. As you know, I named you after Billie Coleman, and your father thinks BiUie ... he blames Bilhe for making me independent. Your father thinks women should stay home to cook, clean, sew, have babies, and wait on their man hand and foot."

"That's slavery," Billie said.

"Some women like doing that, and some don't. I am one of the don'ts. So is your grandmother. I think that part of it is all mixed up in your dad's head. He likens me too much to your grandmother."

"He should be proud of Grandma, and you too. You never told me what he said when my romper turned out to be our best-seller last year. Did he say anything? If he didn't, you won't hurt my feelings."

"Sweetie, your dad doesn't concern himself with what he calls my piddly-assed business. Sunny did show him the romper and sang your praises, as did your brodiers. He said it was very nice. For your sake I wish he'd been as excited as we all were for you. Sometimes you have to swallow hard and take the good with the bad."

"I understand that, Mom. But where's the good?" Her shoulders slumping, Billie walked over to her drafting table and started to sketch. "Call me when dinner's ready. It's my turn to clear, so you and Mazie don't need me right now. What kind of Chinese neime is Mazie anyway?" she muttered.

"Show me what you're working on, honey. You've been so secretive these past weeks. You're starting to make me curious. If you don't want me to see it, it's okay."

"It's an idea. I was cleaning out my closet a few weeks ago and I found my old doll. I started to think, wouldn't it be a super idea to make an outfit, a new one like the coverall I'm working on, and make a doll to go with it? A boy doll and a girl doll with the exact same outfit. A small doll to utilize the scraps of material. If we made the coverall a patch garment of different colors, we'd have lots of leftovers. It really has to be a small doll, though, the kind you can stuff into the patch pockets. A bigger doll would be good too. If we made a bigger doll, you know, the kind kids love to cuddle with the way I did, we could sell them separately. A wardrobe for the bigger dolls using the scraps. What do you think. Mom?"

Fanny took a step backward and stared at her young daughter in wide-eyed amazement. "My God, and you're only fourteen! That is one of the best ideas I ever heard. We'll do it! Do you have the sketches?"

"Sort of I don't want to show them to you yet. Do you really think it's a good idea?"