"Does it pay the bills?"

"Hardly. I work at a casino outside of Toronto. I'm a dealer sometimes. A waitress sometimes. And occasionally I'm one of those annoying photographers who skulk about dark romantic corners of the hotel and snap cozy couples in the throes of hormonal upheavals. The old geezers with young girls are the best. It's fun watching them squirm when they think the wives back home might somehow get their hands on the pictures."

Johnny laughed. "So, you're into blackmail."

Savanah wiggled her eyebrows. "The philandering old coots pay handsomely for any snapshot that could be used as evidence against them."

"You and Dolores have more in common than you think."

"Had." She looked out the window. "So tell me. You and Leah getting married? Or is that a stupid question?" She looked out the window. "So tell me. You and Leah getting married? Or is that a stupid question?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead."

"What about her father? If you go fooling around with Daddy's little girl he's liable to get angry. He's a lot more powerful now than he was when you were eighteen. Not to mention corrupt." Shifting in the seat, Savanah looked at Johnny directly. "I mean it, Whitehorse. Senator Foster isn't someone to take lightly. He isn't going to stand still for long while you brutalize his reputation. And now Leah's back in the picture. What, exactly, will that do to your fight with him regarding the Formation issue?"

"I won't back down, Vanah."

"Then I a.s.sume you'll be forced to make a choice. The love of your life, or your people. The question is, who needs you more? Just how much is Johnny Whitehorse willing to sacrifice?"

"I won't back down," he repeated more firmly. "I'm too d.a.m.n close, Savanah. I had proof in my hand until..."

"Until the accident?" Savanah's voice quivered a little, yet she did not take her gaze from Johnny. "What happened the night Dolores was killed? Don't tell me you were reckless. You're not a reckless man. What sent you off that highway, Johnny? What really caused Dolores's death?"

Johnny rode in silence as Savanah watched him, her expression expectant and worried. "She had dirt on Foster," he admitted. "Proof that there was more behind his involvement in closing down the Apache gambling resort than just his great crusade to stop gambling corruption on the reservation and save the Indian from himself. That night after leaving the restaurant, we were forced off the road by another car. Whatever proof she had about the senator burned up in the crash." He said more to himself than to Savanah, "I suspected she was getting pretty d.a.m.n close to discovering something. She hinted occasionally that after she broke the story there wouldn't be a network in this country that wouldn't beg her to work for them."

"She told you nothing?"

Johnny shook his head. "No way. She wasn't about to risk the information leaking out before she could break it herself. Whatever evidence she got the night of the accident would have, in her own words, blown the lid off the gambling industry as well as Washington."

Savanah sank back in the seat and closed her eyes. "I was afraid it was something like that. d.a.m.n, oh d.a.m.n." She began to cry.

Johnny hit the brakes and eased the truck onto the shoulder of the highway, then shoved the gearshift into neutral before turning to Savanah and taking her face in one hand. "You didn't come back to Ruidoso just to pay your condolences to Dolores, did you, Savanah? Let's face it. You and she weren't exactly friendly the last few years."

Savanah shook her head, crying harder. "I had to know. I didn't want to think that I..." She tried to pull away. "I have to get out of here. I can't breathe."

Shoving open the truck door, Savanah jumped out, stumbling down the shoulder as Johnny killed the engine and left the truck. He slid partially down the gra.s.sy slope before finding his footing and catching up to her. Grabbing her arm, he spun her around, caught her with both hands and held her in place as tears streamed from her eyes.

"It's all my fault," she cried, refusing to look at him. "What the h.e.l.l was I thinking, Johnny? I should have realized. They somehow found out..."

"What are you saying, Savanah?" He shook her gently, insisting that she regain composure. "Look at me, sweetheart."

At last she raised her dark eyes up to his. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have listened to her. I only wanted to help you. To help the resort and put the people back to work. Had I for one minute realized she was doing all this for the sake of her career-"

"What the h.e.l.l are you saying?" Johnny demanded, holding her tighter as her body began to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh, G.o.d, Johnny." She sank into his arms. "I think I killed my sister."

EIGHTEEN.

The wading pool had been filled with fresh water, and by the looks of the muddy sand around the base of the blue-and-green molded plastic there had been a great deal of recent activity. There were several yellow rubber ducks gliding on the water's surface, scooted along by the occasional gust of hot wind whipping down the mountains.

Throughout the hours of boiling sun, swarming flies, colicky horses, and trainers who questioned and cursed Jake over every decision he made, Leah had found her mind drifting to days long past when she and Johnny would sneak away into the mountains to swim in the cold water of crystal-clear streams, then lie like basking seals on ma.s.sive boulders, naked, counting hawks and eagles that soared high overhead. Back then their only worry in life had been over their being discovered together. Not that she really cared, much. But Johnny did, not for himself, but for his father.

With the windows rolled down on the truck and sweat inching down her sides under her manure-and bloodstained clothes, Leah stared vacantly through the bug-spotted windshield at the ducks that, scooted by the wind, b.u.mped and nudged one another, and she thought how nice it would be to take Val to those streams, to see the pleasure on his face as the brisk water rushed around his tight legs, and trout, easily seen through the clear-as-gla.s.s water, swam round and round his ankles before nibbling at his toes. But those places were for children who could walk, who could pull themselves up over ledges that were little more than footholds for birds.

As the engine shuddered and died, she blinked salty sweat from her eyes and glanced down at the clock.

"Seven-thirty," she read aloud, then tapped the plastic over the clock face, certain there must be some mistake. For the last week she had not left the track before ten at the earliest. Yet the sun just creeping behind the western horizon was proof enough that she was, indeed, home. It was daylight, for a while anyway. She would get to see her son awake for a change. Perhaps he could even entice her to run down to the local Dairy d.u.c.h.ess for a hot-fudge sundae, his favorite, topped with two fat cherries.

She stepped from the truck to be greeted by the pygmy goats, grabbing her jeans and tugging for attention. She scratched them between the horns and allowed them to give her a wet kiss on the cheek before heading for the kitchen screen door. Only then did she discover the collection of cars and trucks parked on the north side of the barn, out of the sun-one of them Johnny's truck, she noted with a flutter of excitement in her stomach.

A Weber barbecue grill sat beside the steps, coals glowing hot and the smell of cooking grease making her stomach growl. When had she last eaten anything that had not come out of a vending machine in the jockeys' lounge?

A shout of masculine voices erupted through the door, stopping Leah short. There were whoops followed by, "Kick his a.s.s! Oh, man, that kinda play should be illegal. You guys get ready to pay up. Yo' money is history!"

"d.a.m.n game isn't over till the fat lady sings, you baldheaded b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Gonzales is gonna knock that ball into the next county."

Leah eased open the screen door.

The kitchen table was crowded with platters of crispy hamburger patties, blackened wieners, bowls of chips and tubs of dips. A washtub full of ice and stuffed with beer, wine coolers, and a sweating bottle of Chardonnay sat on the floor near a pile of wet towels and muddy rubber flip-flops.

Shirtless and barefoot, Johnny walked into the kitchen, a ketchup-stained dish towel thrown over his shoulder, a hot dog oozing mustard and relish in one hand. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he gave her a lazy smile.

"Wanna a beer? Never mind. You like strawberry wine coolers, as I recall." He reached into the tub and withdrew an icy cooler, tossed it to her, then grabbed up a Budweiser and pointed toward the living room. "We're watching the game."

"We?"

"Me and the guys."

"The guys?"

"Edwin. Bobby, Roy. Oh, and Sam Clark."

"Sam?"

"He dropped by to say h.e.l.lo. So I invited him to stay. It's Friday and he didn't have anything else to do."

Leah allowed the screen door to close behind her, allowing Johnny a good look at her at last. His eyes narrowed and the amus.e.m.e.nt that had twinkled in his eyes became serious. "Looks like you had a rough day, baby."

"Not the best. Jake thought I'd had enough and sent me home early." She grinned. "Wanna tell me what's going on? Where is Shamika?"

"I gave her the night off. She said something about Mojo's Truck Stop and kicking up her heels."

"And Val?"

He grinned again and crooked his finger at her. Leah moved to the living-room door. Ed, Roy, Sam, and Robert Anderson were huddled around the television. Situated among them in his wheelchair, smiling, was her son, hair still wet from his pool time, shirtless like the rest of the gang, his face and shoulders red from the sun.

The men shouted again, their enthusiasm punctuated by Val yelling, "Kick his a.s.s!"

Edwin extended his flattened hand to Val. "My man, give me five."

Val struggled hard, then slapped Edwin's hand.

The image brought moisture to Leah's eyes.

Laying both hands on Leah's shoulders, Johnny directed her toward her bedroom. "Where am I going?" She laughed with a lightness that made her feel giddy.

"To sit in a hot bath with lots of bubbles, drink your cooler, maybe listen to a little Neil Diamond, and when you've relaxed thoroughly, you can join us."

He escorted her to the bathroom, where a full tub of steaming honeysuckle-scented water awaited her. He kicked the door shut behind them, turned her around to face him, and began to unb.u.t.ton her blouse.

"I called the track and talked to Jake. He said you were headed home and that you were exhausted."

"That's putting it mildly." Leah closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of Johnny's hands working the tiny b.u.t.tons of her blouse. His knuckles brushed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then his fingertips. He unb.u.t.toned and unzipped her jeans, allowing them to fall open while he eased the blouse off her shoulders and let it drift to the floor.

As Johnny sat her down on the closed toilet seat and proceeded to remove her boots, Leah twisted the cap off the cooler, somewhat bemused that she was sitting on a toilet, half dressed, drinking a warmish wine cooler in front of Johnny Whitehorse.

"I wonder what your legion of adoring fans would think if they saw you now," she said, then took a swig of the drink.

"I'm not the one sitting on a toilet in my bra and drinking wine coolers," he retorted, flashing her a smile. "h.e.l.l, they've seen more of me exposed than my chest."

"Oh, yeah. That NYPD Blue NYPD Blue show you did, showing your naked b.u.t.t off to the entire country. As I recall, it was the highest-rated show of the season." She sipped again and rested back against the tank as Johnny slid the jeans down her legs and tossed them the way of her blouse, boots, and socks. "When I watched the show I thought, Aha, they've used makeup on his b.u.t.t. I happen to know you have a birthmark on your right cheek. As I recall it looks like rabbit ears. Wonder what the show you did, showing your naked b.u.t.t off to the entire country. As I recall, it was the highest-rated show of the season." She sipped again and rested back against the tank as Johnny slid the jeans down her legs and tossed them the way of her blouse, boots, and socks. "When I watched the show I thought, Aha, they've used makeup on his b.u.t.t. I happen to know you have a birthmark on your right cheek. As I recall it looks like rabbit ears. Wonder what the Globe Globe would pay for that juicy bit of information?" would pay for that juicy bit of information?"

He tweaked her nose, then reached for the bra hook between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Not much, I think, unless you suggest to them that an alien bit me."

The bra fell away from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and Johnny's eyes turned smoky. "I remember the first time you actually allowed me to touch your b.r.e.a.s.t.s. You were so shy. And when I kissed them you would turn your face away and close your eyes." His fingers slid under the elastic of her panties and eased them down her hips to her knees and then her ankles.

"We've both grown up a lot," she replied softly.

"Learned a lot, have you?" He lowered his head and gently eased his lips and teeth over the tip of her nipple. The touch of his tongue sluiced like hot honey to the juncture of her thighs. Reaching for his hand, she slid it between her legs, groaning at the luscious intrusion of his fingers.

Then he pulled away, his flesh moist from the steam that was fast turning the room hazy and hot. "Don't tempt me, Leah. This house is too d.a.m.n small for us to get too carried away. The guys like their sports, but given the opportunity to listen to a lot of fast breathing and moans of ecstasy they would choose the ecstasy part every time. Get in the tub and soak for a while. If you need someone to wash your back, let me know."

Standing, he turned for the door, hesitating as he took a couple of long breaths, the obvious ridge in his jeans making Leah giggle like a naughty schoolgirl.

The water felt unbearably hot at first, and she eased into it cautiously, allowing her skin to become accustomed to the silken heat before sinking up to her armpits in it. She didn't bother with Neil Diamond; the masculine sounds coming from the other room were music enough to her ears-especially those of her son: laughing, talking, being treated like any normal boy of seven years.

The all-too-familiar lump rose to her throat, and Leah turned the cooler up to her lips and drank deeply, the instant lethargy it produced making her sink into the mounds of white bubbles and lay her head back against the tub.

She thought of Shamika out at Mojo's Truck Stop, laughing and dancing with lonely truckers, listening to their sob stories of frigid wives and empty marriages-all ploys to entice her back to their cubbyhole cots for hire. She would not go, of course. Shamika enjoyed the laughs and an occasional free meal, but that was as far as it went. She was so level-headed and dedicated to Val that she often made Leah feel guilty for devoting so much time to her job.

Then Shamika would remind her that Leah had little choice. While the annuity check she received from the lawsuit was enough to pay for Val's medications-Tegretol for his seizures and Baclofen for his muscle stiffness-there were the costs for therapy and the scores of specialists who poked and prodded at Val in hopes of somehow helping his situation. Then there were the extras: AFO boots that cost seven hundred dollars. Wheelchairs that ran four thousand-unless she decided on the electric one, which would run her an easy ten thousand. Occasionally the annuity simply would not stretch far enough to pay Shamika's salary, any unexpected doctor visits, or food, clothing, and lodging.

Leah closed her eyes. When she opened them again she found Johnny looking down at her, his dark eyes soft, his lips curved ever so slightly.

"Water's cold," he said gently, reaching for the towel and offering her one hand. "The guys are gone. I read Val a story and put him to bed. If you don't get out of there soon there won't be anything left of you to make love to."

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Leah glanced at her water-wrinkled hands. G.o.d, how long had she dozed? The water felt uncomfortably chilly, the bubbles all gone flat. Its label partially off and disintegrating, the wine cooler bottle floated on its side, resembling debris from a sinking ship.

Johnny eased the towel around her as she stepped from the tub, then swept her up in his arms and carried her to the semi dark bedroom lit only by the light of the bathroom behind them, to the bed where he had already turned back the blanket and sheets and fluffed the pillows. She sank with a sigh onto the mattress, her eyes drifting closed with pleasure as he gently dried her body, then tossed the damp towel on the floor.

He unzipped his jeans and eased them down his hips.

Leah gave him a sleepy smile. "Where's your underwear, Mr. Whitehorse?"

"I don't usually wear them. Remember?" Kicking the jeans aside, he eased onto the bed, sliding one knee between her thighs, rolling her to her side, her stomach against his, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against him, his hard arms holding her fiercely as he whispered in her ear: "I love you."

"Is that the Budweiser talking, or you?" She laughed, feeling ridiculously breathless. She wasn't a kid anymore, she reminded herself, yet the expansion in her chest felt no less thrilling than it had the first time he murmured those words in her ear.

"Both." He nuzzled her ear, teased it with his tongue, lightly nipped it with his teeth. "I'm drunk and crazy as h.e.l.l about you."

"You always get a little loose-tongued when you've had too much," she teased, wrapping her leg over his hip and drawing him closer, so close that his p.e.n.i.s felt like an iron rod against her belly, hard and hot, a throbbing velvet-skinned erection that made her ache unbearably.

"Would you like to see just how loose my tongue can get?" Grinning wickedly, he squeezed her b.u.t.tocks then slid his hand between her legs, cupping her mons, easing his long fingers between the folds of her flesh, making her groan and arch against him.

Sliding down her body, he lifted her knees over his shoulders, surprising her at first, then rousing in her a shameless pleasure that made her bite her lip to keep from crying out as the first flick of his tongue inside her streaked like jagged lightning down her legs. Her hands flailed, twisted into the sheets, then grabbed the headboard; her body arched into him; his hands slid up her body to caress her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as his mouth moved on her, tongue swirling, diving, dipping, teasing until she felt mindless and a scream clawed at her throat that she feared would explode at any moment.

She writhed, twisted.

His body sweating, he fought his need to drive himself into her-deep into her: he'd been too caught up in his grief and anger those nights before to enjoy what once, so many years ago, had brought him such emotional and physical pleasure. The taste of her in his mouth sluiced through his raw senses like a sweet, floral fire and he was caught between his need to make slow, pa.s.sionate love to her and his raging l.u.s.t to f.u.c.k her harder and faster than she had ever been f.u.c.ked. To show her that he wasn't a timid boy any more too afraid of hurting her to really enjoy her.

As the first quivering of climax made her grasp his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, Johnny pulled back, leaving her gasping, her teeth clenched, her body hurting with the desperate need for him to finish pleasing her. He considered taking his time, drawing out the pleasure...

"To h.e.l.l with that," he murmured, then slid his body up hers, sliding inside her, to a place once dark that erupted suddenly like bright colorful Roman candles.

The midnight wind whipped the window curtains back and spilled over Leah's and Johnny's damp bodies as they lay with arms and legs tangled, her head resting on his chest, his heart a racing murmur against her ear. Her eyes closed, Leah nuzzled him with her cheek.

"I think every woman alive, at one point in her life, dreams of reuniting with her first love, hoping to capture the magic again that once swept her away, wondering if the reality could ever live up to the memory."

He hugged her close, but said nothing.

"I'm happy to say you more than lived up to the memory." Raising her head, her lips smiling, she said, "Hey, do you realize this is actually the first time we've made love and didn't worry about getting caught? Unless, of course, there is a photographer from the Enquirer Enquirer hidden under the bed. I wonder what's worse? My father or the paparazzi." hidden under the bed. I wonder what's worse? My father or the paparazzi."

Still, he did not reply, just stared at the ceiling, his body relaxed, his hand stroking her back absently. Finally, he looked down at her.

"I want to marry you, Leah."

A look of surprise crossed her face but she did not look away, as she might have many years ago, when even his slightest compliment unnerved her. "Is that a proposal?"

"You and Val and Shamika should move in with me immediately. That way my people can control the situation, the fans, the media, et cetera. I'll have my agents handle all the arrangements for the marriage. It'll have to be done quietly. I don't want a circus-not so soon after Dolores's death. We'll fly my plane to Las Vegas and get married there. Later, if you want, we'll have a formal ceremony with your friends and family in attendance."