A man called Jesse
by
K.N.Casper


HARLEQUIN

Makes any time special

ISBN 0-373-70806-8

"I grew up here, Miss Carr.

"Now your father and his partner want to destroy Santa Marta, level it,
so they can turn it into paradise by the river, one of their exclusive
developments.

Expensive homes for extravagant people.

"Nobody worried about people living at the bend of the river when it
flooded every time it rained all those years ago.  Nobody gave a second
thought to Santa Marta then.  But now that the river's been dammed,
Santa Marta has suddenly become prime real estate.

"Well, it just so happens I have my own plans for Santa Marta.  Hans to
build it up, not tear it down.

Plans to improve conditions for the people who live here, not
dispossess them."

Tori rose abruptly.

"My father, Mr.  Amorado, is not insensitive to other people's
problems.  I'm sorry you had a rough childhood.  It seems to have left
a chip on your shoulder the size of Coyote Mesa."

She turned to the doorway.  He might think he'd won the first skirmish,
but the battle wasn't over, not by a long shot.

Dear Reader, Have you ever gone back to a favorite place---like the
street where you grew up or the first house you bought after get ling
married--and found it completely changed?  Maybe some of the buildings
were still there, but somehow it all looked different.

A few years ago we took our young granddaughter to see the Christmas
lights here in our dry.  There was one house in a certain part of town
that had become so popular that the city included it on their nightly
bus tour of holiday spectacles.

Kiki's joy and wide-eyed wonder melted my heart as we wandered through
a magical wonderland set up on am oversized corner lot.  Some of the
figures were "store boughten," but there was nothing commercial about
any of it.  The spectacle was an elaborate labor of love, one proud
family's generous gift to the community.

It got me thinking about the difference between a neighborhood and a
development.  What if this neighborhood's very existence were
threatened?  Who would be affected?  How would they react?  Would
anyone be willing to do something about it?

Coyote Springs is fictitious, as is the Santa Marta district I portray
in this story.  But I suspect all of us have been to a place like it at
one lime or another.  It's the place we call home----If only in our
hearts.

KN..  Casper

A MAN CALLED JESSE

K.N. casper

HARLEIN

TORONTO ', NEW YORK LONDON

AMSTERDAM * PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM ATHENS TOKYO MILAN MADRID

PRAGUE " WARSAW BUDAPEST AUCKLAND

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book is stolen property.  It was reported as "unsold and
destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."

ISBN 0-373-70806-8

A MAN CALLED JESSE

Copyright 1998 by K. Casper.

All rights reserved.  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work In whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written
permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Umited, 225 Duncan
Mill Road,

Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination
of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the
same name or names.  They are not even distantly inspired by any
individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure
invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

and TM am trademarks of the publisher.  Trademarks Indicated with are
registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the

Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

Printed In U.S.A.

To goz, Jan and Connie,

who got me started and wouldn't let me stop.

And to Mary, who inspired me all along the way.

CHAPTER ONE

Tori Car FLEW DUE WEST.  The last leg of her journey home.

She clicked on her microphone.

"Coyote tower.

Twin Cessna, Romeo-Romeo-three-three-eight, ten miles east for
landing."

A momentary pause, then a crackling response.  She adjusted her
altimeter and checked her heading indicator.

Without warning a violent lurch flipped her hard over to the left.  As
she glimpsed a T-38 military trainer jetting out from under her, Tori
grabbed the control yoke with both hands and centered the wheel.  Her
right leg stiffened on the rudder to overcome the spin while her hands
rammed the yoke sharply forward.  Then came the hollow-stomach
sensation of careening headlong into a nosedive.  With calculated
slowness, she pulled back on the yoke.  The plane shuddered
violently.

Her heart pounded.  Her blood raced.  Her ears buzzed from the engines'
keening roar.

The rate of descent slowed.

She finally leveled off at a thousand feet, got her air speed under
control.  Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.  She held extra
pressure on the right redder and adjusted the trim tab.  Forcing a deep
breath, she looked through the side window to assess the damage.

 Jagged metal glittered like tinsel in the sunlight.  The right wing
fairing was clipped.  Bad?  Certainly.  But manageable.

The Cessna regained three thousand feet.

"Situation under control," she told herself.

Then black smoke began rib boning from the amputated wing tip.  The
impact of the midair collision must have ruptured a fuel line.

Fire!

"Mayday, Mayday," she called on the radio.

"This is twin Cessna three-three-eight.  Mayday, Mayday.

Right wing tip on fire.  Repeat.  I am on fire.  Mayday, Mayday."

Tori clawed the yoke with one hand and reached with the other to turn
off the fuel-boost pump to engine number two.  She feathered the
propeller, watched it stop.  She'd practiced single-engine emergencies
before.

Plenty of times.  She could do it.  She had to.

Her fingers were steady as she adjusted the trim tab to maintain level
flight of the crippled aircraft.  The fire continued to burn.

There was a maneuver... It was a gamble, but one she had to take.
Flight boots glued to the rudder pedals, she forced the plane into a
slip to the left.  Left wing down.  Full right rudder.  Gloved hands
clamped in a death grip on the controls, she rammed the yoke forward
into another deliberate nosedive.  Her shoulders knotted as the Cessna
screamed and fell from the sky, leaving her stomach behind once more.

Again the rusty brown earth zoomed toward her as the wind tore at the
flames.

"Go out, damn it.  Go out!"

The savage land reached out to her like a magnet.

Fifteen hundred feet.

"I didn't resign my air force commission to die in this little Cessna,"
she muttered to herself as the altimeter needle twirled
counterclockwise.

A thousand feet.

Again the plane convulsed in bone-rattling tremors.

She wasn't just tempting fate--she was daring it.

Five hundred feet.

At the last possible moment, the flames guttered out.

Only the adrenaline of pure terror and relief gave her the superhuman
strength to ease back on the yoke.  G-forces plastered her to the seat
as the aircraft swooped over a stand of pecan trees and began its
upward swing above the cheated earth.

She surveyed the situation.  The fire was out.  Perspiration pooled
between her breasts.

Clicking the mike button below her right thumb, she forced herself to
speak calmly.

"Mayday, Mayday.

Coyote tower.  This is twin Cessna three-three-eight.  I have an
in-flight emergency.  Request immediate landing instructions.  Mayday,
Mayday."

"Twin Cessna three-three-eight.  You are cleared to land at your
discretion.  Runway one-eight.  Emergency crew standing by."

"Roger, tower.  Going for runway one-eight."

She heard the tower advising all other aircraft in the area to clear
the pattern.  She wasn't home safe yet.  Her life depended on keeping
the plane straight and level in the glide path.  The landing, less than
a minute later, was a little rough, but with no more ballooning than
she'd seen other pilots perform under much better conditions.

It wasn't until she'd come to a halt in the middle of the runway that
her limbs began to tremble, all strength spent.  Even lifting her hand
to fumble with the last power switch demanded extraordinary
concentration.

Emergency vehicles were already surrounding her.

She yanked off her headset and moved quickly to the back of the
four-passenger compartment.  A wall of hot, dry Texas air assailed her
when she opened the door.

The searing stench of raw aviation fuel invaded her nostrils.
Impulsively she ran her fingers through her short blond hair and
skittered down the ladder like steps into the brilliant summer sun. 
She was home.

Tori dashed on rubbery legs as far as possible from the plane while
crash vehicles disgorged their crews.

A foam truck stood by ready to douse the wing, or the whole craft, if
necessary.  Only heat waves radiated from the scorched metal.

A canvas-topped Jeep pulled up to within a few feet of her.  A man,
probably in his sixties, with parched, sun-wrinkled brown skin, smiled
reassuringly at her.

"You must be Tori Calx.  Name's Sam.  Sam Hargis."

He tipped his soiled baseball cap, which said Hargis Aviation.  She'd
arranged to moor her plane on his pad.

"That was some flying you just did, lady.  I haven't seen aerobatics
like that since my daddy took me to see some barnstorming at a county
fair."  Fumbling in a cooler behind his seat, he extracted a frosty can
of soda and offered it to her.

"Thanks."  She accepted it gratefully and hoped he didn't notice her
hands shaking as she popped the tab.

She gulped.  The cold drink burned the back of her throat.

"If you ever want to get a job crop-dusting or giving stunt-flying
lessons, you just let me know," the old man said.

"There's half a dozen outfits around here that could use you."

She gave him a wide grin.

"Sam, you couldn't pay me enough to do that again, much less for a
living."

He chuckled.

"Anyway, that was mighty impressive.

Jump in.  Your folks are waiting for you at the hangar."

She climbed onto the hot canvas seat.

At the corner of the old wooden building, a tall, stropping man gave
her a thumbs-up as they drove by, then tucked his big hands in the back
pockets of snug jeans.  The shadow of his white cowboy hat masked his
features, but Tori could feel his eyes following her as the open
vehicle pulled into the shade of the cavernous structure.

The Jeep drew to a stop, and Tori caught Sight of her father and his
secretary running toward her.  His partner walked rapidly behind them.
She jumped to the ground and was instantly swallowed up in a hearty
bear hug.  The familiar scent of her father's aftershave conjured up
ghosts of love and sadness.

"Thank God you're safe," Winslow Carr whispered huskily in her ear.  He
released her quickly, as though embarrassed at his emotional display,
and held her at arm's length.

"I was listening to the tower chatter in Sam's office.  You scared me
out of a year's growth, young lady."  The quaver in his voice stole
even the pretense of harshness from his words.

"I'm fine, Dad," she assured him.

"Really."

He offered her a small bouquet of cut flowers.  Sew eral of the stems
were bent, the entire collection askew.

"I guess I got a little nervous watching you come in," he said
sheepishly.

She paused for a second to get past the lump in her throat.

"Thanks, Dad.  They're lovely."  She kissed him on the cheek.

His secretary, Lydia Anderson, was next.  Her silver bracelets jangled
as she threw her arms around Tori.

"You could have been killed up there," she said in a strained voice.

Tori was tempted to quip that it was all in a day's work, but the
anxiety in the older woman's face told her this wasn't a time for
levity.

"I'm fine," she said, and gave her a loving kiss on the cheek.

Finally there was Burton, her father's business partner.

Burton Hazlitt, with his big muscles and mischievous grin.  She'd had
an affair with him right after she was commissioned, the consummation
of years of flirtation

But by her next visit home, she knew their relationship was over, on
that level, at least.  He'd tried several times to rekindle it, but his
attempts were only halfhearted, more a game than passionate
seduction.

The repartee they'd fallen into since then was amusing and flattering,
but neither of them took it seriously.

Still, he'd been her first lover, and she couldn't help feeling a
nostalgic affection for him.

He stood before her now, a fireplug of a man, his bulging arms bowed
out from his stocky body, his hands by his sides.  Obviously he was
still pumping iron.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," he said, and gave her an
openhanded salute.  She chuckled softly when she realized she almost
saluted back.

"At ease, Burton."

He dropped his hand and leaned forward, clutched her upper arms and
gave her a stiff, formal kiss on the right cheek.  She grinned at his
mockery and decided not to tell him that even without heels on, she
could see his brown hair was beginning to thin on top.  As he repeated
the gesture on her other cheek, she glanced over his shoulder to the
side of the wide doorway.  The cowboy in the snug jeans had turned his
back and was walking away.

It took less than half an hour to file her mishap report with the
Federal Aviation Administration.  Then she stopped by the tower to
thank the controller for his help.  The T-38, she learned, had been
from the air force base near the Mexican border.  The pilot, on routine
low-level maneuvers, had been practicing instrument approaches to the
airfield but veered from his pattern and hadn't seen Ton's plane above
him.  He'd clipped his own vertical stabilizer in the midair collision
but was able to get back to home base safely.

Tori returned to her waiting family.

Burton picked up the single piece of luggage she'd retrieved from the
plane when Hargis towed it into the hangar.

"Is this everything?"

"The air force is shipping the rest," she told him.

Her father and Lydia were already walking across the shiny painted
hangar floor to the parking lot.

"It should be here in a day or two."

"You sure travel light" he looked at her with the seductive little grin
that used to send her pulse skittering "--for a woman."

She laughed.

"Sounds like you've had a lot of experience traveling with women."

Judging from his not-so-coy leer, he regarded the put-down as a
compliment.

Tori took a closer look at her father, a few steps ahead.  He was only
fifty, but his once-square build was beginning to appear more
barrel-shaped.  Obviously, he wasn't watching his diet.  And Lydia had
reported that he was also becoming obsessed with his real estate
ventures.

Burton had parked his forest green Jaguar on the shady side of the
hangar.  He deposited her flight bag in the trunk while Winslow and
Lydia climbed into the back seat.

"I wondered how long you'd stick it out," Burton commented as he held
open the front passenger door for Tori.

"You lasted longer than I thought.  But I knew eventually you'd
quit."

"Quit?"  she gasped as he slammed the door and walked around the front
of the vehicle.

Her father reached forward from the back seat and placed his hand on
her shoulder.

"I hope you're not too disappointed about the air force not working
out, sweetheart.  Military life isn't for everyone."

She bit her lip.  Listening to Burton and her father, one would think
she hadn't accomplished anything since she'd graduated from the air
force academy at the top of her class.

"The only reason I joined," she reminded him, "was to fly.  Color
blindness kept me from doing that for Uncle Sam, but I can still fly
commercially.  And in case you haven't noticed, I'm a damned good
pilot."

"But why come back here?"  Burton asked as he got in and buckled up.

"This isn't exactly a mecca for jumbo jets."

The hint of condescension in his question annoyed her.

"I've applied to the airlines that fly into Coyote Springs," she told
him.

"In the meantime, I thought I'd spend some time with y'all.  Lydia
tells me you're up to your eyeteeth in this Riverbend project."

"Going to help us out, huh?"  He started the engine.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be very grateful."

"God, Burt, you're as chauvinistic as ever."  She buckled her own seat
belt, satisfied with the little tick of displeasure she'd provoked.  He
didn't mind being called a chauvinist, but he hated being called
Butt.

Lydia made a noise from the back seat that sounded suspiciously like a
giggle.

"How's Riverbend coming?"  Tori asked as they pulled out into the
bright afternoon sunshine.

"Great," her father replied enthusiastically.

"All the plans are drawn, most of the property has been bought or
optioned and our contractors are standing by, ready to start
development within thirty days."

One thing she'd learned from the military and diplomatic briefings
she'd set up as an executive officer in the Pentagon was the judicious
use of words.

"You said most of the property is accounted for."

"We've got one holdout," Burton explained.

"Tell me about it."

"Not much to tell.  Jesse Amorado's a small-time builder who owns half
a dozen rental houses in the barrio, and he's playing hard to get.
Don't worry about him.  It's just a matter of money.  I'll bring him
around.  '

THE MOVING VAN ARRIVED on Wednesday.  The first thing unloaded was
Ton's Corvette.  She'd bought the red sports car for a good price from
a fellow officer who'd gotten himself into a financial bind.
Anticipating coming home, she'd registered it in Texas with her own
personalized license plates---TORI.  She checked it out after the long
journey as carefully as she inspected her plane before a flight.

As for the rest of her possessions, there weren't many.  She selected a
few of her favorite treasures to decorate her father's guest room--an
antique mantel clock from London, some delft from Amsterdam, crystal
from Italy and an oil painting from Paris.  The rest she stored in the
garage until she could find a place of her own.

To her delight, a letter arrived the following morning from a major
airline in Dallas, inviting her to come for an interview.  She called
them immediately and was pleased they were able to schedule her for
Friday afternoon.

She booked the last flight that night from Coyote Springs, then went to
the airport early to check on her Cessna.

"Repair's not a problem," Sam Hargis told her, and showed her exactly
what had been damaged.

"The question is how long it'll take to get parts.  Could be anywhere
from ten days to ten weeks."

While they talked airplanes, she kept an eye peeled for the tall cowboy
but didn't see him and couldn't think of an unobtrusive way to ask who
he was.

"I run a charter service, too," Sam told her.

"How about coming to work for me?"

Tori laughed and explained why she was on her way to Dallas.

"Well, you ever change your mind," you let me know.  I can always use
an experienced pilot, especially one who can keep her cool in a
crisis."

LYDIA WAS ALONE Monday morning when Tori at her father's office.
Winslow and Burton had gone to an early city council meeting.  There
were half a dozen agents who worked out of offices down the hall, but
they usually used the door at the other end of the building, so Tori
didn't run into any of them.

"How did your job interview in Dallas go?"  Lydia asked as she finished
filling out a form on her computer screen.

Tori plopped into the chair next to her desk.

"Overall, I guess it was positive.  I'm not very comfortable blowing my
own horn.  I don't think I relaxed until we started talking airframes
and performance characteristics.

Now I wonder if I didn't come across as a little too opinionated."

In fact, the civilian world was a culture shock.  She'd never had to
look for a job before.  In the military, work was assigned and pay was
defined by law.  Now she was faced with questions about how much
"compensation" to ask for and what conditions of employment were
negotiable.

"I'm sure you did fine.  When will yon find out?"

Tori got up restlessly and went to the credenza in the corner, poured
herself some vanilla-flavored coffee, then brought the pot back and
refilled Lydia's cup.

"It's decal," Lydia pointed out.

"What your father doesn't know won't hurt him2' "Sneaky."  Smiling,
Tori returned the carafe and resumed her seat.

"They said they'd notify me within thirty days.  Could be a hell of a
month."  She took a sip of the steaming brew.

"I'm not very good at waiting."

Lydia pecked away at her keyboard as she talked.

"Take some time off, go sightseeing, kick up your heels."

Tori shook her head.

"I need to keep busy.  Dad told me last night he's having some problems
with this Riverbend project.  I got the impression he's benning to
panic."

"Things have gone a lot slower than he expected."

"Maybe I can help.  You know, check out the lay of the land.  Can yon
give me a list of the properties Dad owns in Santa Marta?"

"That's easy."  Lydia manipulated her computer mouse, changed the
screen to a series of icons, then clicked on one of them to bring up a
database.  She asked over her shoulder, "Just the ones we own, or the
ones we manage, too?"

Tori thought a moment.

"Both."

"It's a pretty long list."  Lydia poked at some keys.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

"I just want to see what our holdings are."

Several sheets of paper rolled through the laser printer.

"These are the addresses of the properties we own," Lydia explained,
pointing to the headings at the top, "and these are the ones we
manage."  She handed the sheets to Tori and settled back in her
chair.

"I'd better warn you honey.  Santa Marta doesn't look the way you
remember it.  A lot's happened in the past couple of years.  You've got
to understand that all those places are going to be torn down to make
way for the Riverbend project."

Tori nodded absently as she browsed through the lists.

"Just a minute," the older woman said, and straightened up.  Her ringed
fingers skimmed deftly along the keyboard.  The printer whirred and
another list came spewing out.

"Here are the properties we don't own or manage but have options on. As
you can see, just about everybody's committed to Riverbend," "Except
Amorado."

"You got it.  The last holdout."

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG to get into the heart of Santa Marta.  As a child,
Tori had loved coming here after school to wait for one of her parents
to pick her up on the way home from work.  She'd been fascinated by the
lilting speech and the wonderful vitality that seemed to permeate
everything.  The bakery and tortilla factory brought back happy
childhood memories of warm fruit empanadas and honey-sweet so papillas
There was heartbreak, too--the memory of her mother getting killed
here.  But she wasn't going to dwell on that now.

She had a mission to accomplish.

As she meandered through the cur bless streets, Tori understood why
Lydia had warned her that things had changed.  The old neighborhood had
never boasted the lushness of Woodhill Terrace, where her father lived,
but now it looked battered, run-down, neglected.  A shiver of sadness
rippled through her for a time that

Was no more.

Finally, she drove slowly down South Travis Street.

Her eye caught blue-and-white ceramic tiles spelling out Amorado
Construction on the left side of the road.

The narrow, nondescript stucco building was in a sort of no-man's-land
between cheap commercial structures and the heart of the barrio. Burton
had said bringing around this last holdout was a matter of money.  From
the looks of the place, it shouldn't take much.  So why hadn't he
succeeded?

On an impulse she decided to find out what jesse Amomdo was like.  Gift
and hard of hearing?  Or would he be all Latin charm and cunning?  For
that matter, did he even speak English?  Her fingernails drummed the
leather-covered steering wheel as she watched several mud-caked pickup
trucks go by in both directions.

When the coast was clear, she zipped into one of six empty parking
spaces in front of the building.  Climbing out of the sports car, she
nervously checked her lipstick in the reflection of the driver's side
window, adjusted her buff calf-length silk skirt and matching
sleeveless vest and proceeded to the aged, wood-frame glass door in the
middle of the single-story building.

As she opened it, a bell tinkled inside, reminding her of the sound of
the bells they used during Sunday Mass at the old Spanish church a few
blocks away.  She resisted the temptation to close the door quietly in
the silence of the tiny room.

"I'll be with you in a minute," a voice called out from somewhere in
back, its male resonance filling the hollow space around her.

Her nervousness eased as she moved around.  The reception room, if you
wanted to call it that, was austere.

Unadorned rough walls painted stark white, a battered oak desk that
looked as if it might have come from a 1940s schoolhouse, a few equally
ancient, stiff wooden chairs, a rag rug on the quarry-tile floor.
Amo-rado Construction didn't make much of a first impression.

"How can I help you?"  The deep masculine voice was close behind her
this time, its richness compelling her to face its owner.

She turned and thought instantly of the cowboy she'd seen at the
airport, the man standing in the shadows of the hangar.

"I'm Tori Carr."

He extended his hand.  It was large, warm and rough with calluses.  She
was considered tall, but she still had to look up to meet his gaze.  A
smile tugged the corners of her mouth.  No way would she see a bald
spot on his head, even if she was wearing heels.  And obviously this
man's thick, shiny black hair wasn't thinning.

"I'm Jesse Amorado.  What can I do for you?"

She looked around the room.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"How about my private office?"  He swept a hand toward the doorway he'd
just come through.

"After you" she said.

She liked the way the creases beside his wide w intensified when he
grinned back at her.  He precher through the narrow passageway.  She
was vat aware of a little filing room to her left, but her attention
was drawn to the broad back that tapered down In arrowhead, pointing to
Jesse's narrow waist and sit hips.  Definitely not what she'd
expected.

He motioned her to a worn, tapestry-upholstered wooden chair in front
of a desk.

"Please sit down was just fixing coffee.  Would you like some?"

She looked up.  He had high, wide cheekbones hinted handsomely of
Native American descent:

complexion was olive-toned.  She also noticed wasn't wearing a wedding
ring.  Didn't mean a'd she told herself.  A lot of pilots didn't,
either.  For reasons.  Made playing around easier, too.

Now, what had he asked?  Oh, yes, something coffee.  She'd already had
two cups this morning.

limit.  Besides, this wasn't a social visit.  But be for4 knew it, she
was acquiescing, "Yes, thank you."

He disappeared into a small alcove, giving 1 chance to examine the
office more carefully.  I than the outside room, its atmosphere was con
side wanner.  The cherrywood desk was old but so oiled that even the
chips and cracks in its fine we took on a glowing nobility.

She noted, too, the homey display of framed to graphs on the walls. 
One showed Jesse rompin the lawn with a youngster of five or six.  The
boy

Jesse's big brown eyes and clearly loved the man he was playing with.
Another captured a laughing Jesse tossing a toddler in a colorful dress
high into the air.

The little girl was giggling with glee, totally confident that Jesse's
big strong hands would be there to catch her.  In the third photo,
Jesse was standing behind a pretty raven-haired woman who was sitting
on a back-yard swing, his hands resting comfortably, assuringly, on her
shoulders.  The boy and girl stood on either side of her, their little
fingers intertwined with hers.  All of them were smiling contentedly
into the camera.

That's what I'd like someday, Tod thought with an unexpected pang of
longing.  A happy family with lots of ds.

She almost jumped when Jesse reached in front of her and deposited a
scarred but colorfully painted metal tray on the corner of the desk.
The service was complete, if unconventional: sugar in an old tin
canister and milk still in its plastic quart container.  The spoons
didn't match, nor did the two ceramic mugs.  But the steam rising from
them emitted an aroma that was rich and inviting.

"I hope you like strong coffee.  This is my own blend.  Colombian and
French roast with a touch of cinnamon."  He set the light blue mug in
front of her and took the chipped brown one for himself.

"I recommend milk and sugar unless you're particularly brave.," "Black
is fine."

He shrugged almost imperceptibly and added milk and sugar generously to
his own.

She took a sip and instantly wished she'd taken his advice.  The
concoction tasted like burned mud.

He didn't miss the shocked look on her face and barely managed to keep
his expression neutral.

"It's delicious," she said with a slightly forced smile, "but..."

He chuckled softly and pushed the tray toward her.

Taking her cue from him, she added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and
filled the cup to nearly overflowing with milk.

"Much better," she said after tasting it.

"Thanks."

"That was quite an exhibition you put on the other day," he said.

"Are you home on leave from the air force, Captain?"  She raised an
eyebrow, surprised he knew she had been in the service.

"Every time you moved to another assignment or got another medal,"
Jesse explained, "your name was in the paper announcing it."

The information startled her.  She didn't know her father had
publicized those details.

"I'm not a captain anymore.  I resigned my commission.  I'm looking
into other career options now and thought I'd help my father out for a
while."

He gazed at her for a long minute, took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"What can I do for you?"

Behind his desk was a large map of Spring County with the city of
Coyote Springs clearly outlined.  She pointed to six properties
prominently marked with colored pins.

"You own several houses in the barrio."

He leaned back in his swivel chair.

"You mean the Santa Marta district?  They're not for sale, Miss
Carr."

"Oh, come, Mr.  Amorado."  She smiled ingratiatingly.

His widely spaced eyes were as dark as Kahlfia.

A woman could lose herself in those mysterious depths.

"Investment property is always for sale.  It's simply a matter of the
right price.  My father's prepared to give you top dollar."

"They're still not for sale."

So he was going to play hardball.  That didn't surprise her.  She'd do
the same thing in his place.

"Of course they are.  You can't live in all of them, and why would you
want to, anyway?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm just saying that from what I've seen of the barrio, most of the
houses are pretty run-down.  Some are little more than shacks, hardly
habitable."

"But people do live in them.  And my shacks are no worse than the ones
around them that your father OWnS.  "That's exactly why we're planning
to tear ours down and---" "What about the people who live in them?"  He
leaned back in his chair.

Mirroring his action, she leaned back, too, then decided to go for
broke.

"Believe me, I know how unsettling moving can be.  I've done a lot of
it in the past few years.  But it's not as if the residents would have
to leave Coyote Springs.  There are other places to live right here in
town."

Places are like things, she wanted to tell him.  They can be changed.
It's people we love who can never be replaced.

She picked up her cup and took another small sip of coffee.  It's
richness was addictive.

"As you probably know, the government offers several low-cost
mort-gage-assistance programs, and for people who can't afford to buy,
there are other options."

"You mean the public housing over on the east side of town?"

Public housing.  It wasn't a term she would have chosen to use.  She'd
seen so-called public housing in several large cities: rat-infested,
crime-ridden hellholes in which human life was sometimes valued less
than the price of a hit of crack or a line of cocaine.  The idea of
sentencing the people of Santa Marta to the environment of big-city
tenements was totally abhorrent to her.

But, of course, this wasn't a big city.  This was Coyote Springs.

His next question was pointed, accusatory.

"How much do you know about Coyote Springs, Miss Carr?"

"I was born and raised here, Mr.  Amorado."

"So you call it home.  But you haven't spent very much time here in the
past few years, have you?  And even when you did live here, how much
did you get to know the place?"

"Perhaps more than you realize."

"Then you know public housing has the worst crime rate in the city,
while Santa Marta--" he emphasized the last words "-has one of the
lowest.  Right behind Woodhill Terrace, where your father lives.
Although I'm sure if white-collar crime were counted in the statistics,
Woodhill would have an even higher crime rate than Santa Marta.  There
aren't too many white collars in this district."

The implied insult wasn't lost on Tori, but she held her tongue.
Instead, she sized up the man in front of her ... until she realized he
was doing a reconnaissance of her, too, starting at the vee of her
vest.  She toyed nervously with her gold necklace, then
self-consciously dropped her hand into her lap.  The man behind the
desk was positively disconcerting.

"I'll tell you why Santa Marta has such a low crime rate," he went on
steadily.

"We're family here.  Sure, like any family, we have our disagreements
from time to time.  When we do, we take care of them among
ourselves."

"Ah.  That's very interesting."  She couldn't resist indulging in a bit
of sarcasm.

"But it sounds like what you're saying is that there's just as much
crime here as on the north side.  You just keep it better hidden."

Jesse took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the arm of the
chair.

"I'm not saying that at all," he countered, then paused.

"But I'm not going to argue with you about it, either.  As I told you
my property is not for sale."

Tori wasn't pleased with her outburst.  Trading barbs would accomplish
nothing.  The secret to successful negotiation was to take whatever he
wanted to dish out, as long as in the end Carr Enterprises got his
signature on a contract of sale.  It rankled that she was losing
control while he wasn't.  Only the rhythmic throbbing of the vein in
his neck beneath the smooth, strong jaw-line indicated any tension. His
sensuous lips were smiling.

MaYbe another approach.

"Look, Mr.  Amorado, let's examine the financial angle for a moment. My
father owns or has control of most of the property in the barrio."

Jesse opened his mouth to say something, but she raised a hand to keep
him from interrupting.

"Excuse me, Santa Marta."

His nod was almost imperceptible.  She went on.

"I think you'll agree this is a great opportunity to develop it into
something this entire city can be proud of.  Riverbend will bring money
and prestige to Coyote Springs, and with it new jobs.  That's going to
help your people, as well as the rest of the city."

He frowned.

"Miss Carr, I guess you haven't been listening.  So let me say it
again.  My property is not for sale."

She pressed on anyway.

"I'm not going to kid you.

Your property is important to my father's venture.

That's why I'm hem---to open up dialogue.  I'm sure if we try, we can
find common ground and reach a mutually acceptable compromise.  Look,
name a price.

Let's see if we can't use that as a starting point to work something
out."

He shook his head, his eyes narrowed.

"That's all you think about, isn't it?  Money, Well, you're wrong.

This isn't about money--it's about people.  But you don't care about
them, you and your father and his partner.  All you see is a chance to
make another killing at the expense of the same people you've been
victimizing for years.  I'm afraid, Miss Carr, we have a basic
disagreement.  I'm not interested in selling my property in Santa Marta
to your father or anyone else."  He leaned toward her, his chair
squeaking slightly.

"On the other hand, perhaps I can persuade you to sell me yours."

CHAPTER TWO

Tori CAUGHT A WHIFF of Jesse's woodsy aftershave.

"You buy us out?"  Her back stiffened.  The idea was ridiculous,
preposterous.

"Impossible."

"Why?  As you said, you aren't going to live in any of them.  So you
must own them for speculation."  She winced as he threw her words back
at her.

"Why not let me buy you out?"

"They're not for sale."

"But you just told me investment property is always for sale.  So
what's your price?"

This was not going well.  Somehow he'd reversed the tables, putting her
on the defensive.  She took a slow, deep breath and smiled.

"Touche, Mr.  Amorado.  But I'm here to buy, not to sell."

"Why not?"  he persisted, his coolness adding further to her
discomfort.

"Because we've got plans for--" "Oh, I see," he interrupted, his words
slow and dripping with scorn.

"So they are for sale, but not to just anybody."  He raised an eyebrow
in a challenge.

"Or perhaps you just don't want to sell to a Mexican?"

"I don't like your insinuation, Mr.  Amorado.

Whether you are Mexican or not has nothing to do with our willingness
to sell."

"As a matter of fact, Miss Carr," he said quietly, "I'm not Mexican.
I'm American."

She could feel her face growing hot.

"That was your word, not mine.  What you choose to call yourself
doesn't make any difference.  Carr Enterprises isn't going to sell to
you or anyone else, because we have our own plans for Santa Marta."

"Well, it just so happens," he countered, "that I do, too.  Plans to
build it up, not tear it down.  Plans to improve conditions for the
people who live here, not dispossess them.  You see, I've heard enough
about your Riverbend project, Miss Carr, to know that your father and
his partner want to destroy Santa Marta, level it, so they can turn it
into paradise by the river, one of their exclusive developments with
big lots, custom-built houses and professional landscaping.  Expensive
homes for extravagant people."

He was right, of course.  There was no point denying it.  But she
didn't see any reason to apologize for it, either.

"My father builds luxury homes, Mr.  Amorado.

But no one is forced to live in them.  People buy them because they can
afford to and because they appreciate quality."

"It's funny, Miss Carr," Amorado went on, his dark features taking on a
determined hardness.

"Nobody worried about people living at the bend of the river when it
flooded everY time it rained unless their servants didn't show up for
work on time or the mud kept the rent collector from the swift
completion of his appointed rounds."

Tori shook her head in protest, but before she could speak, Amorado
continued.

"I know, Miss Carr, because I grew up here.  I had to wade knee-deep in
water along the only dirt roads in the city to get to the school bus up
on the paved main road.  Nobody gave a second thought to Santa Marta
then."  He brushed back the shock of hair that had fallen across his
wide forehead.

His deep voice was mocking.

"But now that the river has been dammed, mi barrio--" He stopped
abruptly, as if shaken by his slip into Spanish.

"Santa Marta has suddenly become prime real estate, a charming little
spot in the horseshoe of the Coyote River.  And Wins-low Carr,
slumlord, wants to turn it into a high-class neighborhood."  He picked
up a glossy brochure from his desk and read, "A place suitable for
sophisticated people who can truly appreciate' its beauty and value."

The man was obviously inflexible.  But Tori wasn't going to let his
remarks about her father pass unchallenged.

"My father, Mr.  Amorado, is not a slumlord, nor is he insensitive to
other people's problems.  I'm sorry you had a rough childhood.  It
seems to have left a chip on your shoulder the size of Coyote Mesa."

She rose with as much dignity as she could muster and turned to the
doorway.  He might think he'd won the first skirmish, she told herself,
but the battle wasn't over, not by a long shot.

JESSE GOT UP AND WATCHED her stride purposefully through the narrow
passageway.  The spring-mounted bell jangled angrily as the front door
slammed.  A minute later, he heard the bass rumble of her car
starting.

It reverberated through him.

He got up from his desk and looked out the side window in time to catch
a glimpse of the red Corvette as it squealed down the street.

"The joke, Miss Carr," he said out loud, "would have been on me if
you'd taken me up on my offer."

There was no way he could buy out Winslow Carr.

He was having enough trouble keeping up mortgage payments on the
properties he already owned.  His plan was to gradually upgrade each of
them, then buy others and improve them, as well.  Santa Marta would
never be another Woodhill Terrace, but at least the word barrio in the
mouth of a smug Anglo like Tori Carr wouldn't be synonymous with
slum.

Of course, if old Mrs.  Ramos's son got arrested again, she'd bail him
out--again.  Which meant she wouldn't be paying her rent this month,
either, putting even more strain on his cash reserves.

He finished his coffee, which had suddenly grown bitter, and looked at
the half-empty mug on the other side of the desk.  He could still
picture Ton's lips poised above its rim.  He smiled crookedly as he
picked it up and noticed the traces of her lipstick.  If only she
weren't the daughter of Winslow Carr.

Tori HAD TO FORCE HERSELF to control her speed along South Travis
Street.  Having to steer around the ubiqitous potholes helped. 
Suddenly she burst into laughter.

Her father had written her about a program the city had inaugurated to
finance repair of some of the streets.

"Buy a pothole."  He'd bought a dozen in their names.

She wondered which of the ones she was maneuvering around belonged to
her.

The momentary distraction at least gave her heart time to slow its wild
pounding.  But the emotional turmoil generated by her brief encounter
with Jesse Amo-rado was still very much on her mind.  Was it the hard
stance he had taken that had her so agitated---or the man himself?.

She turned onto San Jacinto Boulevard, the main business artery of
Coyote Springs, and a new kind of tension began to eat its way up from
her stomach.

Should she tell her father and Burton about her visit with Amomdo?

There was no clattering bell when she opened the heavy plate-glass door
of Carr Enterprises.  No bare walls or scarred schoolhouse furniture to
greet her here.

Instead, across a wide expanse of plush vermilion carpet, Lydia stood
at a row of filing cabinets, the gold bangles on her wrists jingling as
she sorted through a pile of folders.

She looked up and greeted Tori with a broad smile.

"I didn't expect you back so soon.  I figured you'd be checking out the
mall.  There's a fresh pot of coffee if you want some."

Tori thought about the rich blend she'd sipped only a few minutes
earlier and the man who had served it.

"No, thanks.  I've had my quota for today.  Is Dad available?"

"He's with Burt," Lydia said.

"But there's no one else with them.  Why don't you just go in?"

Lydia's desk was between two sets of double doors that faced each
other.  Tori walked to the pair on the right, gave two sharp raps in
military fashion and entered the room without waiting for a response.

Burton was sitting behind his glass-topped desk, her father in the
black leather chair across from him.  Both men rose as she entered. She
stifled the reflex to say, "As you were, gentlemen," and chuckled to
herself.

After nearly a decade of military protocol, civilian life was going to
take some getting used to.

"Hi, sweetheart."  Her father took her by the hand and led her to the
other visitor's chair.

"Am I interrupting something?"  she asked when everyone was seated
again.

"Nope," Burton replied, a hint of mischief animating his still-boyish
face.

"But I bet your ears are burning?"

Tori looked from one man to the other.  Like two little boys, she
thought with amusement, bursting to tell her a secret.  She lifted an
eyebrow slightly.

"Oh?"

"Burton and I were just talking about you" her father explained,
sounding very pleased with himself.

"As you know, he owns one-third of Carr Enterprises and I own the other
two-thirds.  I've decided to give you haft of my interest.  That way
the three of us will be equal partners."

Tori was flabbergasted.  Her father knew she'd left a promising career
in the air force because she wanted to fly for a commercial airline,
preferably one that would allow her to make Coyote Springs her home
base.  She fully intended to help him with his business in the
meantime, but not as a permanent occupation.

She didn't even know if she'd like working in real estate.  Besides,
just last week both men had practically called her a failure, a
quitter.  It didn't seem like a very good basis for a partnership.

"I'll continue to handle current sales," her father went on happily. He
had a reputation for being able to sell anything to anyone, which was
one reason Tori was so surprised he hadn't been able to make any
headway with Amorado.

"Burton will still take care of property management," he continued.

"It's our major source of steady income.  "Santa Marta looks pretty
bad," she remarked.

"There's no point in putting a lot of money into places that are going
to be torn down," Burton said a little defensively.

"Santa Marta's only part of ourin-vestment."

She didn't want to get into a debate about business practices.

"What about me?"  she asked skeptically.

"What would I do?"

"I ... we ... thought you could handle public relations," Burton
offered.

"You know, entertain prospective clients and investors, especially for
Riverbend.

Give them tours of the city, sell them on the advantages of getting in
on the ground floor of the newest and biggest development this area has
ever seen."

She looked to her father to get his reaction, but he only smiled back
complacently.

"You want me to play tour guide?"  Her heart sank.

"I did that as a second lieutenant--for generals and admirals and
members of Congress--when I worked at the Pentagon."  She'd made sure
their quarters were ready, their wet bars well stocked, their spouses
suitably distracted--and she'd hated catering to whims rather than
dealing with issues, watching while other people made meaningful
decisions.  At that point she'd realized she'd have to compete twice as
hard to prove herself in this man's world.  But she had proven herself
and soon found herself in charge of multimillion-dollar defense
contracts.  Now Burton and her father wanted to hire her as a hostess!
Remembering her discussion with Jesse Pmmorado less than an hour
earlier, she pictured how he'd looked at her.  He'd seen a woman, too,
but he'd respected her as an equal--enough to argue with her and not be
afraid to win.

"That's not what I came home for, Dad," she said, unable to hide her
disappointment.

Confusion clouded her father's eyes.

"Honey... We just thought..."

"If that's what you need me to do while I'm here, of course I'll do it.
But you don't have to make me a partner."

The discomfort on her father's face was palpable.

The expression on Bur Tori was more complex.  He looked puzzled, but
she thought she also saw a note of approval in his quiet nod, as if she
had passed some sec test.

"I tell you what," she said, lightening her tone.

"I'll take on your PR campaign until I get an offer from one of the
airlines.  But why don't you also take advantage of some of the
negotiating skills your tax dollars have paid for?"

She studied her father more closely, noted the lines of fatigue etched
around his mouth, the expanding crow' s-feet and the complexion that
seemed more gray than pin "Tell me again about Riverbend," she said.

"You mentioned the other evening that Jesse Amorado was the last
holdout.  Maybe I can get him to sell."

Burton brightened.

"Do you know him?"

Tall, dark, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, long straight nose,
perfect white teeth, and big strong hands.  Her face grew warm when she
realized Burton was staring at her.

"Yeah," she said, "I met him on."

"Win," Burton said, turning to her father, "neither of us has been able
to get anywhere with Amorado.

Maybe we ought to give Tori a shot at this barrio baron.  If anyone can
persuade him to surrender--for a good price, of course--I bet she can."
He winked wickedly at her.

She glared back.

"Hey," he chided with a soft chuckle.

"What's pened to the sense of humor you used to have?"

For a moment she regretted not being in uniform.

No one patronized her then.  She gave Burton a withering glance.

"Let's get on with it."

Winslow Carr stepped over to the side wall of the spacious office.  It
was covered from floor to ceiling with a framed board.  One portion
showed the same county map Amorado had tacked to his wall This one was
mounted on metal so color-coded magnetic markers could be used to
indicate various properties.  Next to the map was a blowup of their
plans for the barrio.

Her father waved his hand across the board to half a dozen bright red
dots.

"Amorado's six plots are scattered all over the place and will
interfere with every aspect of the project."

Burton rose from his chair, removed an engraved gold pencil from his
breast pocket and used it as a pointer.  Tori was instantly struck by
the difference between his hands and Amorado's.  But Tori were strong,
but they had lost the coarseness and cobweb of axle grease and
crankcase oil they'd had when he'd spent every spare moment working on
his motorcycle.  These days they were carefully manicured, more
accustomed to holding fine crystal snifters and wineglasses than oil
cans or torque wrenches.  They were the hands of a weekend golfer, not
a mechanic.  Jesse's were larger, harder, with long, straight,
tough-skinned fingers.  She remembered their warmth when they'd held
her own.

"This one---" Burton pointed to a red dot "--is right in the middle of
the golf course.  This other one's in the shopping mall.  Those two are
in prime residential areas.  That one's in the schoolyard.  And this
one, Amorado's place, sits right where we plan to build the
clubhouse."

"Amorado lives in Santa Marta?"  Tori exclaimed, recalling the
best-looking home in the barrio.

"The house on Otero Street?"

"That's the one," her father said.

She wanted to kick herself.  No wonder Amorado had turned hostile so
quickly.  She'd called his home a shack.  Do better research, she
resolved, before the next time you meet him.

"And there's no way to build around his properties," Burton
concluded.

They discussed other aspects of the project, as well:

the architects they had under contract, the builders they had under
option, zoning waivers they were requesting, utility changes that would
have to be negotiated.  It was a complex undertaking, the kind Tori
found absorbing.

"I commanded a logistics detachment for two years," she reminded
them.

"I know bureaucratic red tape.  Why don't you let me take care of
getting zoning waivers, permits and licenses downtown?"

"I've got a handle on that," Burton countered.

"Developed the contacts, made the connections.  No sense changing
horses in midstream.  Just see what you can do with Amorado."

After her father left Bur Tori office, Tori marched aimlessly about the
expensively appointed room.  The dull wood and shiny brass of his
immense, Danish modern writing table was very different from the old
polished deak Jesse used to fill the much sin space he had available.
Burton would undoubtedly scoff at his business opponent's taste for
antiques.  Burton never liked to look back.

"Let's go to the Manor tonight," he suggested in an apparent attempt to
distract her from her restlessness.

The Manor was the most lavish restaurant in town.

The food was rich, the wines exclusive, the service superb and the
prices exorbitant.

"They've got a band this evening."

"At the moment, Burton, I'm not interested in dane-ing."

She gave him a commander-to-subordinate, dead-in-the-eye stare.

"Was it your idea that I play chamber of commerce social
coordinator?"

He balked.

"I really don't understand what you're so worked up about.  Your father
said he wanted to bring you in as a partner and wondered what you could
do.  I suggested PR.  What's wrong with that?  It's a job that has to
he done."

She turned her exasperation on Burton.

"You act as if I were nothing but window dressing in the air force.  I
didn't get my promotions handed to me, Burton.  I had to earn them.  I
controlled multimillion-dollar budgets and commanded dozens of men and
women.  But I'm not a salesperson and I don't want to be."

"Oh, I get it," Burton taunted, grinning.

"You're worried about bagging Amomdo."  He turned serious.

"Don't.  You butter him up.  I'll take care of the negotiations."

Anger flared as she faced him.

"You just don't get it, do you?  I suppose I should go home now and
practice baking brownies, if I get that right, will you let me do
fudge, too?"

She'd left CoYote Springs thinking the unconscious condescension of the
"little woman syndrome" was unique to West Texas--a holdover of the
cowboy code of chivalry that said it was a man's job to protect the
women and children.  The real world had taught her otherwise.  Most men
claimed they liked their women to be strong, yet they bristled whenever
that strength competed with their own.  Ultimately, men seemed to want
women to be demure, domestic subordinates.  And sexy as hell.

"Hey, chill out," Burton grumbled.

"Boy, you really are uptight."  He rested his hazel eyes on her and
softened his tone.

"What I'm suggesting is that we team up.  Nobody expects you to arrive
one day and conquer the world the next.  You don't have any experience
at this."

Forcing herself to calm down, she tried to analyze the situation
dispassionately.  On one level he was right.

It was unrealistic to think she could move into his world of real
estate and land development without training or experience.  Still, his
attitude rankled.  She took a deep breath.

"Shall we call it a truce, then?"  He approached as if to embrace her,
but she sidestepped him.  He shrugged resignedly.

"So how about dinner tonight?  I made reservations at the Manor for
seven o'clock."

"A little presumptuous of you wasn't it?"  she inquired.

"Don't you think you might have asked me first?"

He walked over to her and brought his hand up to her chin.  Not only
did she refuse to flinch, she locked onto his gaze.

"We've got some things to settle between us," she said.

"We might as well do it over dbmer.  But you'd better change those
reservations to seven-thirty.

There's something I've got to do first."

"You've changed," he said quietly.

"I'm not sure I know you anymore."

CHAPTER THREE

JESSE'S DAY WENT from bad to worse.  Timing was everything, and right
now his timing seemed to be syncopated.

Bills were coming in faster than receipts.  He'd had to transfer funds
that afternoon from his personal account to make the minimum payments.
As soon as he sold the house he had under construction in Oak-dale,
he'd be able to reimburse himself with interest.

In the short term, however, it wasn't a very reassuring feeling.

Several times during the course of the day he asked himself if he might
have been precipitous in rejecting the offer Tori Carr had made that
morning.  More than once he caught himself sitting motionless at his
desk, picturing her in the chair opposite him.  The smile she'd given
him after she'd added milk and sugar to her coffee made him forget she
was the daughter of his nemesis.

The same smile had prompted him to wonder what it would be like to hear
her laugh.  Or better still, to share her laughter.

Then he'd replay their conversation--her talking about the "shacks" he
owned in the "barrio," and how the residents would just have to find
other places to live.  Nevertheless, he found himself grinning at the
memory of her reaction when he referred to Winslow Carr as a slumlord.
At least he could admire the way she flew to her father's defense.

Was it possible she didn't know the reputation Carr Enterprises had in
Santa Maria?  Or the way her father's muscle-bound weasel of a partner
treated people?

Maybe not.  As he himself had pointed out, she hadn't lived in Coyote
Springs in a long time.

He heard the bell and the sound of heels hurrying down the hallway.

"Jesse, Jesse, are you here?"

"In the back."  He rose from his chair.

The arrival of Esperanza Mendez, bubbling over with good news,
temporarily pushed aside thoughts of Tori Carr.

"I passed the SAT!"  She waved the official notice in his face.

"I'm going to TUCS!"

Texas University at Coyote Springs had started as a regional community
college but a few years ago had been incorporated into the state
university system.

"That's wonderful."  It had been a long, difficult road for her to go
back to school and pass her high school equivalency exam.  Studying for
the Scholastic Aptitude Test, the universal entrance test for admission
to colleges and universities, had been even harder.  But she'd stuck it
out and he had to admire her for it.

"Henry Martin says he's going to get me a full scholarship."

In addition to working for Jesse part-time, she worked for Santa
Marta's city council representative.

Jesse hoped she wasn't making a mistake by counting on Martin's
unqualified support.  The councilman would probably get her the
scholarship--he was a wheeler-dealer but he was first and foremost a
politician, and Jesse didn't trust him.

"I'm really proud of you" he said, putting his arms around her.
Perversely, the closeness of her warm, voluptuous body made him think
of the way the West Texas wind had molded Ton's shirt to her breasts
when she ran her hands through her hair at the airport.  The erotic
image stirred him uncomfortably.  He backed away.

"We'll have to celebrate.  Where would you like to go?"

She smiled broadly, a childlike glee animating her face.

"Can we go to the Manor?"

The fiscal manager in him groaned.  A whopping bill at the most
expensive restaurant in town wasn't exactly what his checkbook needed
right now.  Yet he was reluctant to deny her.  He'd hired her to do
typing and filing, but she'd done a lot more--like selling people on
him for restoration and minor construction jobs, and dealing with the
bureaucrats at city hall to get him the permits and licenses he needed.
She'd even helped negotiate the sale of two of the Oakdale houses he'd
built on speculation.

Besides, the prospect of spending the evening, perhaps the night, with
a beautiful woman might be just what his restless body hungered for.

Tori Of.  ANAT HER WATCH as she left But Tori office.

The afternoon was getting late.  She'd have to rush if she expected to
catch anyone at the chamber of commerce before quitting time.

The familiar aroma of gardenia potpourri and stale cigar smoke greeted
her when she pushed through the glass-paneled door of the building. The
office manager, Evie Crump, was obviously still fighting a losing
battle against secondhand smoke.  Tori embraced the gray-haired lady as
she greeted her.  They'd met several summers before when Winslow Carr
sat on the city council.

The slippers Evie wore around the office flapped on the tile floor as
she scurried from desk to filing cabinet to copier and fax machine,
picking things up from one spot and putting them down in another.

"I wish they wouldn't have those late meetings here," the woman
declared.

"They could just as easily have them in Martin's office."  She paused
and looked up.

"What can I do for you Tod?"

"Can't I just stop by to say hello?"

"In your first week back?"  Evie's mouth curved up at the corners.

"I appreciate the thought," she said, "but you and I aren't that close.
I reckon you want some sort of information.  It's okay.  That's what
I'm here for."

Tori frowned with embarrassment, realizing she'd been patronizing.

"What can you tell me about Amo-rado Construction?"

"Amorado Construction.  Small business.  Not a member of the
chamber."

"Do you know anything about it?"  Tori prompted as she lent a hand
gathering the used plastic coffee cups that had been scattered around
the small room.

Evie's brusqueness softened in appreciation of the help.

"Old man Amorado, Fernando, had a small home-repair business.  You
know, handyman type of thing, for thirty years or so.  When his older
son, Jesse, finished school, he joined him and they started calling it
Amorado Construction."

Started calling iL That didn't sound as if it were very successful.

"How many houses have they built?"

"It's just Jesse now.  The old man died a couple of years ago."  Evie
threw the soiled cups into a wastebasket, turned off the coffeemaker
and held up the glass pot.

"Want the last cup?"

Tori suppressed an urge to wrinkle her nose at the acrid-smelling black
residue.

"No, thanks.  So how is Amorado Construction doing?"

"He specializes in renovations and reconstruction work mostly.  But
he's also built and sold two houses in Oakdale and has a third one
almost finished."  Oak-dale was a solid middle-class neighborhood. Tori
decided she'd have to drive over there and see them.

"He has a reputation for high quality and dependability," Erie
continued "As I said, he's still small, but he seems to be doing well
and growing."

So the offer to buy Carr Enterprises out of the barrio had been a
bluff!  She experienced a warm tickle of delight.  Jesse Amorado had
been testing her.  She had to give the guy credit.  He'd pulled it off
beautifully.

Thank heavens she hadn't told Burton or her father about his offer.
They'd probably still be laughing.

Well, worthy opponent, she mused.  May the better person win.

"By the way," Tod asked casually as she was leaving, "is he married?"

Evie's face bloomed into a rare smile as she glanced at Tori.

"Honey, no one's landed him yet."

THE MANOR WAS a pretentious structure designed to evoke the ambience of
an antebellum Tara.  The six Greek columns that spanned the front of
the two-and-a-half-story building succeeded well enough, though the
recent addition of aluminum siding spoiled the effect Burton had
reserved a table by one of the wide, multi paned French windows that
looked out onto a small garden separating the house from the parking
lot.  Tori settled into the plush brocade armchair held by a waiter
while Burton ordered white wine for both of them.

She was starting to relax, allowing herself to be seduced by the
gracious decor of the place, when she saw a couple stroll by on the
brick walk leading to the main entrance.  The man's head was bent down
as he talked.  The woman had a smile on her face as she gazed up at
him.  A minute later Jesse Amorado appeared at the velvet rope guarding
the doorway to the dining room.

It was impossible not to notice him in his Havana brown Western-cut
jacket and the white-on-white dress shirt.  Was it the man who was
causing her pulse to quicken or the business challenge he
represented?

She'd been contending with the property issue separating them all
afternoon without her blood pressure rising, so... Everyone else was
looking at the woman hanging possessively on his arm, her generous
curves elegantly emphasized by the empire-wasted emerald green dress
that flared above her knees.  There was no denying her beauty.

There was also something familiar about her.  But who was she?  Why was
she here with Jesse?  Alone.

Together.

Jesse scanned the room, and before Tori could redirect her attention to
the menu in her hands, his eyes fixed on hers.

He nodded in greeting and she smiled.  Burton, who had his back to the
doorway, noted her reaction, swiveled in his seat to see the source,
then grinned at Tori approvingly.  A moment later, Jesse passed
alongside their table.

"Good evening, Miss Carr.  How nice to see you again."

His eyes were playing with her, making her un comfortable and he was
enjoying every bit of it.  Was he going to mention their meeting that
morning?

"Good evening, Mr.  Amorado.  May I introduce Burton Hazlitt?"

Burton had already risen from his chair and was giving the lovely young
woman the on-over.  Tori ex-peted the two men to shake hands as a
matter of form, but Jesse's impersonal nod made it clear he had no
intention of touching Burton.

"Miss Carr, may I introduce my business associate, Esperanza Mend--"
"Espy!"  Tori exclaimed.

"Is it really you?  I thought I recognized you."

Espy blinked slowly in acknowledgement.

"Hello, Tori."  The words came out hoarsely, a mixture of pleasure and
something else in her voice.

"It's been a long time."  Tori smiled as she took Espy's hands in
hers.

"It's wonderful to see you."

There was a momentary lull, and Tori realized both men were looking at
them with quizzical expressions on their faces.

"Espy and I knew each other as kids."

"Really?"  Burton asked.

"You never told me you knew Tori Carr," Jesse commented.

"Espy and I went to the same sitter every day after school," Tori
explained.

Espy's confirming smile was polite but without warmth.

"Why don't you join us?"  Tori suggested.

"There's plenty of room at our table, and we have so much to catch up
on."

She saw Jesse visibly stiffen as if the suggestion, like her offer to
buy his property, were an affront.

"Thank you" he said with formal politeness, "but we wouldn't think of
imposing.  Perhaps another time."

Tori wanted to tell him it wouldn't be an imposition, but he didn't
give her the opportunity.

"Enjoy your dinner," he said.

"Now, if you'll excuse US---" Tori put her hand out to delay their
departure.

"Let's get together and talk sometime," she suggested to Espy.

"Are you still living with your mother on Hidalgo Street?"

"Mom died years ago.  I've got an appartment in the Spanish Arms on
South Travis now."

"I'm sorry," Tori said, then tried to lighten the mood.

"I'll call you soon," she promised.

"Sure, anytime," Espy replied, but the invitation didn't sound
sincere.

Tori had an uneasy feeling about their chance meeting.

She and Espy had played together as kids, dressing Ton's dolls,
skipping rope and breaking open pifiatas at b'n'qday parties.  It was
inevitable, of course, that they would lose track of each other.  But
why this reserve bordering on unfriendliness?

Jesse ushered his "business associate"--whatever that meant---away.
Then Tori saw Lydia and her father come through the door.  They arrived
at the table a moment later, followed by a couple Tori didn't
recognize.

Her father introduced Paul and Myra Triska, neighbors who'd taken up
residence across the street a couple of months ago.  Paul was tall and
gangly, Myra short and round.  What the two had in common--besides an
obvious affection for each other--was a sense of humor that had
everyone laughing even before another table was joined to theirs and
the six of them were seated.

Tori had hoped to discuss the events of the day over dinner with Burton
and nail down the role she was expected to play at Carr Enterprises.
But she didn't want to do it in the presence of her father, and
certainly not in front of strangers.  It would have to wait until
later.  For the moment, though, laughter was the tonic Tori needed, and
Paul and Myra did a wonderful job of supplying it.

But every once in a while she would feel Jesse's eyes on her from
across the room, sometimes casually, sometimes intensely.  As she
turned to look back at him, she knew it definitely wasn't business
affairs that had set her nerves on edge.

JESSE WATCHED Espy's tongue lick salt from the edge of her frosty glass
and found himself picturing Tori sipping coffee in his office.

"I had a visit from Carr Enterprises today," he announced after
sampling his own margarita.

Espy practically slammed her drink down and narrowly avoided spilling
it.

"You're not going to sell to him, are you?"

Jesse thought about the bills that had passed across his desk earlier
that day.

"At the rate things are going, I may not have much choice."

The corners of her mouth turned down as she glared at him.  He knew
what she was thinking.  He'd made the counter argument often enough you
always had a choice.  You might not like the alternatives, but there
was always a choice.

"Look," he said, "I can probably slow down their damned project, maybe
even ruin it.  But what's the point?  Hell, all the other owners have
either sold to him already or agreed to."

"That's exactly why you can't.  Have you forgotten Miguel?"

He should have known she'd bring up his kid brother.

"No, damn it.  I haven't forgotten."

"Then I don't see how you can even think of selling to that ... that
bloodsucker," she sputtered.

"I thought you had more pride."

"She wants to negotiate, that's all," he replied, and instantly
regretted it.

"She?  You mean he sent her?"  Espy shot a jealous glance across the
room to where Tori was warmly engaged in a conversation with an older
man.

"Didn't waste any time, did she?"

Espy was building up to a grand tirade.  It was easy for a man to be
seduced by her beauty and passion, but her fiery temper was one of the
things that kept Jesse from considering a more permanent relationship.
Taking a deep breath, he decided to change the subject.

"What are you planning to major in at TUCS?"

The diversion worked through dinner, until she caught him gazing over
at the Carr table, at the slender woman in the long black dress.  Then
Espy's eyes flashed and the diatribe was renewed.

"You owe it to our people to stand up to Carr."

"I said no.  What more do you want?"

Espy stabbed the starched white tablecloth with a long red
fingernail.

"I just wonder how long it'll take her to seduce you into giving her
what she wants."

"What are you talking about?"  he demanded.

"I can see the way she's been looking at you" Espy said with
derision.

"She has more on her mind than real estate."

"Don't be ridiculous."  But he couldn't seem to keep his attention from
wandering to the laughing blonde half a room away.

Hazlitt was another matter.  All charm and good manners here.  In the
barrio, he liked to twist arms and browbeat people.  Only two weeks ago
he would have physically assaulted one of Carr's own tenants, Jose6
Garcia, if Jesse hadn't stepped in.  Jose6 had complained because the
broken windows from the hailstorm two months ago still hadn't been
repaired and his little girl had cut herself when she tried to patch
them with a piece of cardboard.  Only two things had kept Hazlitt from
taking a swing at Jesse when he took Jose6's part:

Jesse was bigger, and Hazlitt wanted something from him--his
properties.

Jesse called for the check, smothered a groan at the amount and
escorted Espy around the table of laughing people.  Tori smiled
pleasantly as they passed, and he thought he saw her lips wish him
good-night.

The short trip in his truck to Espy's apartment passed in strained
silence.  When they got to her door, though, she invited him up for a
glass of wine.

"No, thanks," he said.

"I've got an early day tomorrow," "Aw, come on, Jess."  She slipped her
hand seductively under his suit jacket and stroked his shirt.

"Just for a few minutes."

His body couldn't help but react to the intimacy, and he might have
been tempted had he not detected the gleam of spitefulness in her dark
eyes.  He gave her a simple brotherly peck on the cheek and started
back to his truck, then turned around.

"Congratulations again on your test scores," he called out.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon at the office."

NEXT Morning, Tori decided to take a closer look at Santo Mart
especially at the properties Amomdo owned--and at one of them in
particular.

Her Corvette would have drawn little more than a passing glance in
Woodhill Terrace---if there was even anyone outside to notice it.  But
people in Santa Marta lived more out-of-doors.  A shiny red sports car
passing through was an event, and a young Anglo woman with sassy blond
hair a curiosity.

Since school hadn't yet started and the summer heat was stifling in
houses with little or no air-conditioning, kids were in the streets
playing ball or tag or huddled in little groups studying bugs or worms
or other critters.

They instantly interrupted their games to watch her pass.  It took only
one child to run toward her for an entourage of yelling kids and
barking dogs to follow.

Welcoming the distraction, Tori rolled down the window and greeted
them.

She chuckled at the surprise on the faces of the older ones when she
answered their questions in Spanish.

They couldn't know she'd practically grown up here and that the
language had once been as natural to her as it was to them.  She'd been
tempted to greet Espy in Spanish at the Manor the evening before.  But
Burton had never made an effort to learn even a few social phrases in
Spanish, so speaking it in front of him would have been impolite.
Besides, she wasn't sure how Jesse might have taken it.  As showing
off?.  Or as a put-down?

Finally an old man hobbled from one of the houses and shooed the
children away.  Tori smiled and called out to him in Spanish that they
were no bother.  She introduced herself, expecting him to come over and
pass the time of day.  All she got in return was a tip of his worn
straw hat and a distant, "Senorita."

A large, stocky woman in a not-very-clean orange dress came running
across the parched lawn from next door.  She looked at the personalized
license plate on the Corvette and grunted contemptuously.

"If you are looking for the Molinas," she said in heavily accented
English, "you can go away.  They are gone.  God help them."

"The Molinas?"  Tori asked.

"Qud hay de los Molinas?"

"You are here to check up on them, right?"  the woman accused her,
still speaking English.

"Do not worry.  They did not trash your precious house, though they
should have.  Little Paqulto so sick, and you throw them out just
because they are a little late with the rent again.  Danilo, he is
working three jobs just to pay for all the medicine the baby needs, and
now they have to move in with relatives and send their other four
children to live with friends."

"I don't understand," Tori said, her stomach tightening.

"They have a sick baby and they were evicted?

When did this happen?"

"Last week."

"You are Carr's daughter, are you not?"  another woman called from
behind her.

"And you do not know the papers your father sends us?"  She didn't
sound as if she believed it was possible.

"I suppose you do not know about the Garcfas or Dominguez, either."

"Oh," the first woman objected, failing into Spanish, "The Garcfas'
house was so bad it was a favor to be thrown out.  They got a much
nicer place over on Herradura Street.  One of Jesse's places.  At
least--"

she reverted to English "--he don't threaten them with the police if
they are five minutes late with the rent."

"They only rented the Carr place because it was close to Jose6's
mother," the second woman commented.

"I heard old man Dominguez got the money for the rent from his son in
California, but he refused to pay it," the stocky woman added.

"The hot water heater busted for two weeks, and still it was not fixed.
He is living with his sister and her husband now."

"Aye.  That won't work.  Him and Jose6, they don't get along no way."

Before Tori knew it, several other women had joined them.  They seemed
to forget she was there as they gossiped in the mixture of languages
called Tex-Mex.

Tori would have enjoyed listening to it if the message hadn't been so
ugly.  People living in her father's houses were apparently being
constantly harassed for rents.  When pipes and refrigerators wore out,
the residents were blamed for breaking them.  They were told they had
to pay to have them fixed or be arrested for destroying property.
Everyone was blaming her father.

So this was why Jesse had called him a slumlord!

When Tori finally left the women, they stared at her, their expressions
varying from unmistakable enmity to pity because she was a Carr.  She
didn't know which was more unsettling.

Driving away quietly, she checked the rest of Jesse's houses.  They
were small and basically like the ones around their Carr houses--but
better cared for.  The outside of one had recently been painted.  The
old wooden windows of another had been replaced with burnished aluminum
frames, and two others had new shingle roofs.

She turned onto Otero Street.  Jesse's address was in the middle of the
block.

IT WAS AFTERNOON when she returned to the office.

"Where is everyone?"

"At a meeting downtown," Lydia told her.

"They'll be back around two."

Tori wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She wanted an explanation for what was going on in Santa Mart and had
the feeling that getting answers to her questions wasn't going to be a
pleasant experience.

"Do you have any plans for lunch?"  she asked.

"I was going to call out for a sandwich."

"Why don't we go out somewhere?  My treat."

Lydia's face it up.

"How about the Old Mesquite Grill?"

"You're on."

"I'd better leave these here, then."  Lydia removed the rings on her
fingers and dropped them into the desk drawer.  At Ton's quizzical
look, she said, "You'll See."

The Old Mesquite Grill on Main Street had been a saloon and dance
hall--complete with "fancy ladies"--around the turn of the century and
a speakeasy in the Roaring Twenties.  Only the Depression finally put
it out of business.  There were several attempts to revive the
landmark, but none was successful until five years ago, when two
enterprising young men got some wealthy investors to back them in
restoring it to its original splendor---minus the "fancy ladies," of
course.  They served a lavish lunch during the week.  At night it was
again the most popular dance hall in town.

While she and Lydia waited to be shown to a table, Tod searched the
noisy barroom with its high tin ceiling and electrified gas lights for
familiar faces.  No Jesse Amorado.

They filled their plates generously from the buffet spread out on the
old mahogany bar and returned to their table.

"I drove through the barrio again this morning," Tod said as they sat
down and arranged their dishes.

Lydia tucked a napkin unceremoniously into the front of her ruffled
indigo blouse before picking up a huge, sticky beef rib.  Tod smothered
a chuckle.  So that was why she'd left her rings behind.

"I wondered where you were," Lydia said after negotiating the first
bite.

"It's in dreadful condition, and the properties we own are the worst.
How could Dad let that happen?"

"Burt is in charge of property management," Lydia observed.

Tod nodded vaguely and buttered a piece of warm corn bread.

"Doesn't Dad ever visit them, check them out?"

Lydia licked her fingertips and took another napkin from the dispenser
at the end of the table.

"He drives by the ones in other parts of town periodically, but he
doesn't go through the barrio.  Too many bad memo-des."

Lydia wiped barbecue sauce from the corners of her mouth with the
rounded fold of a clean paper napkin.

"It's a place of guilt for your father.  He's always felt he failed
your mother, failed both of you."

"He didn't," Tori muttered as she cut a bite-size piece of brisket from
the huge slice on her plate.

"They both worked so hard, Dad selling real estate, Mom as a lawyer."
Amusement crept into her voice.

"Sort of role reversal, wasn't it?"

Lydia filled her fork with creamy potato salad but kept a close watch
on her companion.

"Dad used to tease her about being the family mouthpiece," Tori
reminisced.

"I could always tell he was proud of her."

"Jean was a good lawyer," Lydia said.

"She liked helping people.  That's why she spent so much of her own
time doing pro bono work in Santa Marta."

"Until it killed her."

CHAPTER FOUR

LYDIA LIFTED A BROW at the unusual note of rancor.

"Is that what you think?  That your mother's career was responsible for
her death?"

Tod shrugged.

"Do you realize you've never talked about the day it happened?"  Lydia
asked quietly.

"Haven't I?"  But Tori knew she hadn't.  She'd tried so hard to put it
all behind her.  The shame, the guilt, the feeling of helplessness. She
pushed her plate of haft-eaten food aside.  Maybe it was time, and with
whom better than this dear, sweet lady whose calm sympathy had been
such a soothing comfort those many years ago?

"Mom told me that morning she would be picking me up at Mrs.
Gutierrez's day care because Daddy had a new client he needed to show
around town.  It was wintertime.  A blue norther had come in earlier in
the afternoon, dropping the temperature to near freezing, so the other
kids and I were playing in the living room when Mom drove up.  I saw
her through the window and remember her looking around and watching a
van stop at the curb.  When she saw a big hulk of a man get out, her
face turned pale and she came running to the house.  She slammed the
door and locked it behind her, then shouted for Mrs.  Gutierrez.
Something was terribly wrong.  Mom never panicked.  She always spoke
quietly and talked to people patiently.  But that day I could tell she
was scared.  She ordered Mrs.  Gutierrez to take all of the children
out the back to the neighbor's house.

"I didn't understand what was going on.  I only knew I didn't want to
leave Mom.  When the others went out the kitchen door, I ducked into
the back bedroom.  Mrs.

Gutierrez didn't realize I was missing until she got next door.  Then
she figured Mom had kept me behind."

Tori took a sip of her iced tea Her insides were churning, just as they
had that day nearly twenty years earlier.

"By then the man was pounding on the front door.

Mom picked up a chair to put against it, but before she could get it in
place, the man smashed through the glass panel.  Mom dropped the chair
and started to nm, but he was too fast for her."

Lydia said nothing, but her gentle nod, her look of compassion urged
Tori-on.

"He didn't yell or shout at first, but I could still hear what he was
saying--"You're trying to take my family away from me."  Mom said she
wasn't, that she wanted him and his family to be happy.  They just
needed a little time apart to think things over.  He was practically
choking her, but she was still trying to calm him."

Tori stared at her mug of iced tea, her fingers cleaning away the
condensation that formed like teardrops on its sides.  She took a sip
to ease the burning dryness in her throat.

"Lydia, I was so scared, more terrified than I've ever been in my life,
before or since.  By then the man was shouting, yelling at Mom that she
was making people laugh at him."

Tori began picking at the edge of a paper napkin, tearing little pieces
from it.

"I wanted to crawl under the bed, to get away from what was going on.
And I did.  But I took the phone with me.  My hands were shaking but I
held the receiver tight to my ear, hoping the man wouldn't be able to
hear the dial tone.  It seemed so loud.  I called the operator.  There
wasn't any emergency number then.  I told her I needed the police.  I
had to repeat it because she couldn't hear me.  I told the policeman
who answered to come quickly, that someone was hurting my mom.  The
policeman said to speak up, he couldn't hear me.  I think I was crying.
I told him I couldn't talk too loud, the man would hear me and then he
would hurt me, too."

Tori closed her eyes to shut out the memory.  But she couldn't.  It was
too real.

The waiter approached, observed the largely untouched food and began to
ask, "Ladies, is everything--" But a dismissive wave from Lydia made
him back away.

"I was so upset," Tori continued, "and the policeman was so calm.
Instead of reassuring me, as I'm sure he meant to, it seemed as if he
didn't care.  I know I was crying by then, and that only made it harder
for him to understand what I was saying.  Finally he told me not to
hang up and to stay where I was."

Lydia said nothing as she stroked Ton's fluttering hands.

"But I couldn't stay there.  Not when that man was hurting Mom.  I
crawled out from under the bed and crept to the door."

Tori looked up.  Her insides were trembling almost as much as they had
been all those years ago.

"Then I heard the sirens.  Off in the distance.  I thought maybe they
were going somewhere else, but the wail was coming closer.  As it did,
the man got more excited.  He kept yelling at Mom, blaming her for the
police coming after him.  I heard him hit her.  She cried out and I
started to nm out to her.  Then I heard her gasp.  I thought she'd seen
me and was trying to tell me not to come, so I ducked back behind the
door."

Tears were streaming down Ton's face now, trs she was shedding for the
first time.

"But when I didn't hear anything, I got even more scared.  I thought
maybe he'd taken Mom somewhere.  So I stuck my head out into the hall
just in time to see the man dash out the front door.  I was so relieved
to see him go, and that he wasn't dragging Mom with him, I ran into the
living room.

"Mom was lying on the floor.  Perfectly still.  I could see blood was
oozing out in little rivulets from a wound in her chest."

Tod tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat wouldn't let her.  She
wanted to speak, but it took several minutes before she was able to.
Lydia continued to hold her hands across the table.

"Go on," she finally urged when Tod had gotten better command of
herself.

"You've been holding it in long enough."

Tori shook her head and attempted to pat her cheeks dry with a fresh
napkin, then glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed.

"I tried to stop the bleeding, you know.  I pressed on the hole, trying
to keep the blood from seeping out.

All the time I kept telling Mom not to worry.  The man was gone and I
was going to stop the bleeding.  I promised I'd take good care of
her."

Tod bit her lip and was grateful for the gentle companionship of the
woman holding her hand.  There was Of a pang of embarrassment, a grown
woman ying like a child.  But after so many years of grieving in
solitude she felt a wave of relief at being able to mount the events
that had haunted her.

"There was nothing you could have done, honey," Lydia said softly.

"He'd stabbed her in the heart.  She was already gone."

"I guess I knew that, but I wouldn't give up.  I kept trying to push
the blood back in, kept telling her she was going to be okay."  Tori
took a deep breath and gave herself a moment to regain control of her
voice.

"I have only a vague recollection of someone pulling me off her."

"Yon did everything you could," Lydia assured her, "all the right
things, far more than anyone would expect of a ten-year-old.  You were
very brave."

"That's what everyone said.  But I knew it wasn't true.  It was my
fault she was dead.  if I'd done what she told me ... if I'd left with
the others and not Stayed behind, not called the police, the man
wouldn't have panicked when he heard the sirens, and maybe he wouldn't
have stabbed her."

"Stop," Lydia ordered with sudden firmness, compelling Tori to look at
her.

"Stop torturing yourself.  You and your father have been doing it for
years.  He blames himself for not being there to protect his family,
for not picking you up at the sitter's himeself that day instead of
asking your mother to do iL You blame yourself for being there and not
being able to save her."

"It wasn't Dad's fault," Tori objected.

"The man was obsessed, deranged.  He would have found her somewhere
else."

Lydia stroked her hand gently over Toffs and smiled softly.

"His mind knows that, honey.  Just as yours does.  But your hearts
won't listen."

Tori regarded the woman sitting across from her.

Lydia Anderson understood love and heartbreak and loss.

"I've never even thanked you for everything you did for me," Tori told
her.

"You didn't try to replace Mom, but you were always there, always
willing to listen and give me a hug when I needed it most.  I can't
tell you how much that's meant to me."

"I only wish I could have helped you more," Lydia replied.

"I've been blessed, you know.  I had a man who loved me, two wonderful
sons, and you've been the daughter I never had."

"I wish I had your strength," Tori said.

"Those years of taking care of Jake after he was diagnosed with Lou
Gehrig's disease ... it must have been torture watching him fade away,"
This time it was Lydia's eyes that misted.

"It wasn't always easy," she admitted, then brightened.

"But in a way it wasn't that hard, either.  Watching him lose control
was difficult, but even in the end, when he couldn't communicate, he
still managed to let me know he loved me, and that kept me going."

Will I ever find someone like that?  Tori wondered.  Will there be a
man I can give myself to with all my heart and know he loves me, too,
no matter what happens?

Lydia dabbed at the teardrops poised at the edges of her long
eyelashes.

"We make quite a pair, don't we?"

she commented wryly, then regained control with a steely resolve Tori
couldn't help but admire.

"Your father helped, too.  You probably don't know it, but during those
years when Jake was declining, he kept me on the payroll, even though
he couldn't really afford to, so we would have the medical insurance
coverage we lost when Jake's firm had to let him go."

Tori nodded, thinking her father was just that sort of man.

Lydia helped Tori clean up the confetti she'd made of her napkin and
push their soiled dishes to the end of the table.  Immediately, the
waiter was there to remove them.  He returned a moment later with two
large bowls of hot peach cobbler topped with generous scoops of
homemade vanilla ice cream.

When they were alone again, Tori picked up the thread of the earlier
conversation.

"So you think Burton' sto blame for the state of our properties in the
barrio.  You've never liked him have you?"  Lydia shook her head.

"He's handsome and intelligent and full of boyish charm, but sometimes
the charm wears thin.  I admit he's a good businessman.  I've just
never been able to warm up to him."

Tori gathered ice cream on her spoon and sampled it, grateful for its
silky coldness in her burning throat.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"  Tori asked.  But before Lydia could
answer, Tori chuckled.

"But then how could you?  I was lovesick."

It felt good to laugh again, even if it was at herself.

"I was, what, fifteen the summer Burton came from Chicago on that big
Harley looking for work.  He was so different from any boy I'd ever
met."  She smiled.

"Of course, he wasn't exactly a boy, either.  He's ten years older than
me---an older man!"

He'd exuded a sort of toughness under a veneer of social polish, like
the bulging muscle beneath the tattoo of a leopard on his left biceps.
There was a second tattoo, as well--the one she'd eventually gotten to
see in private.

"I was sure I was in love."

"Along with half the other girls in town," Lydia teased.

"I tried more than once to suggest he wasn't suitable, you know."

Tori grinned back.

"I can be pretty stubborn."  Even now it embarrassed her to think how
she must have looked trailing after him, hanging on to his every
word.

"You were a teenager," Lydia pointed out, as if that explained
everything.

"Besides, having a mind of your own is all as soL "Sometimes," Tori
agreed.  After all, it had been determination and perseverance that got
her through the academy.  She sampled a spoonful of warm peach, then
changed the subject.

"I don't like what's going on in the barrio," she commented.  Jesse's
words came back to her.  I have plans to build it up, not tear it dowr
Improve conditions for the people who live there, not dispossess them
Lydia plunged her spoon into the rich dessert.

"It's just that the project has taken longer than we expected.

Amorado's been a real stumbling block.  Now the barrio's suffering for
it.  If your father had realized---" "Do you know what Jesse calls Dad?
A slumlord."

Lydia winced.

"That's not fair."

"No," Tori agreed, feeling strangely defensive about the lone holdout,
"but can you blame him?  What But Tori done has been in Dad's name."

Lydia looked up at Tori quizzically.

"By the way, how do you know what he calls your father?"

Oops.

"I went to see him yesterday morning," she confessed.

"Ah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

02)

"You said you'd met him once.  I wondered when that could have been."

The light went on.

"You were listening," Tori accused, feigning indignation.  She was
rewarded by the sudden pinkness rising to her companion's cheeks.

"The door wasn't completely closed and I just happened to be passing
by--" "Uh-huh.  What else did you just happen to overhear?"

"I understand why you turned down your father's partnership offer,"
Lydia said, growing more serious.

"You're right, of course "

"But..."

Lydia reached across the table and placed her hand on Ioft's.

"Your father really loves you honey.  He can be an insensitive jerk
sometimes---"

"He's a man."

"Yes, he's a man," the older woman agreed lightly.

"But he needs your help more than he's willing to admit."

"He doesn't sound as if he thinks I have much to offer."

"You're going to have to forgive him, you know," Lydia said.

"He doesn't know he's being unkind."  She snorted.

"But don't expect him to change.  No matter where you've been or what
you've done, he still sees you as his little girl in pigtails and party
dresses."

The waiter brought the bill.  Tori paid it in cash and left a generous
lip.

"I was wondering," she said offhandedly as they left the restaurant,
"if you might have time to do some shopping with me later this
afternoon?"

"Shopping?"  Lydia stopped beside Ton's sports car.

"Shopping for what?"

"I need clothes for the office.  One advantage of being in uniform was
that I didn't have to think about what to wear when I got up in the
morning.  I've got plenty of casual stuff and a few nice things for
evenings, but my wardrobe is a bit limited when it comes to dressing
for business."  Then she added, "But I don't want to keep you from
anything you have to do."

"Honey, does the sun rise in the east and settle on Coyote Mesa?  Of
course I have time.  You're looking at the shopping est grandma in
Coyote Springs."

WINSLOW CARR WAS still downtown at a meeting when they got back to the
office, but Burton was in.

Tori paused a moment, fingering the gold chain that scooped gently from
beneath the crisp pointed collar of her tailored blouse, then walked
straight into his office without knocking.  Her heart was pounding but
she ignored it.

"We need to talk."

Burton shoved some papers off to the side of his desk and came over to
greet her.

"What's up?"

"I drove through Santa Marta this morning."

Burton raised one eyebrow.

"The barrio?"

For the first time Tod noticed the way he said the word.  Not as an
innocuous Spanish expression meaning neighborhood or district, but with
careless condescension.

A put-down.  Is that how Jesse had heard her say it?  The thought made
her mentally cringe.

"I was checking out the properties we own.  Burton, they're in worse
condition than I thought."

He shrugged.

"We've already talked about this, Tori.  Why put a lot of money into
shacks that're going to be leveled?"

Shacks.  The very word she'd used to describe them to Jesse.  I'm
getting an awful lot of my own words thrown back at me lately, she
thought.  First Jesse.  Then Lydia.  And now Burton.

"They're people's homes," she reminded him.

"We still have an obligation to maintain them in a reasonable manner as
long as people are living in them."

"I don't disagree with you" he said.

"I guess the question is what, in your estimation, constitutes
maintenance, and how do you define reasonable?"

"Don't play games with me, Burton," she snapped back.

"I think you know the answers to those questions as well as I do."

"No, I don't think I do.  Otherwise we wouldn't be having this
conversation."  He rubbed his hands together and rolled his lips
between his teeth.

"I told you yesterday, you're embarking in an area you know nothing
about.  It would be a complete waste of money--" "What about the
Molinas?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"The Molinas?  What about them?"

"They have a sick child and you evicted them."

For a moment he looked as if he were going to lose his temper, but then
his features softened.

"The Moli-has were evicted, Tod, because they hadn't paid the rent in
three months, not because they have a sick child.  As a matter of fact,
I checked around to make sure they had a place to go.  I understand
they moved in with relatives."

Tod remembered one of the women saying the Moli-has had been late with
the rent more than once.

"I don't throw people out on the street because they're down on their
luck," Burton assured her, clearly disturbed she might think he
would.

"You don't have to tell me about being poor.  I've been there, done
that, and I have the scars to show for it."

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, and she knew by the gesture
that he was uncomfortable with the admission.  He'd rarely talked about
himself, even in their most intimate moments.  It was perhaps one of
the reasons they'd broken up.  She'd never felt close to him
emotionally.  Maybe she was being too critical of him after hearing
only one side of the story.

"Look," he said patiently, settling into the executive chair behind his
desk, putting space between them.

"If you're going to take an active interest in this business, you might
as well learn how things are done.  No one has been evicted illegally.
I've been very careful about that.  I've violated no law, no code and,
under the circumstances, no reasonable expectation.  I have to admit,
though, that I've only done minimum upkeep on those houses."

He swept a hand toward the map across the room.

"The Riverbend project is going to make us a lot of money, Tori.
Millions.  If you want to become a philanthropist, by all means do so.
But frankly, right now, we can't afford it.  We're stretched to the
max.  Everything we've got is in Riverbend.  If it fails, we go
bankrupt.  I don't know about you but I have no intention of letting
that happen."

He rose from his seat, approached her and placed his hands on her
shoulders.  It wasn't a display of intimacy, though she thought she
detected a genuine fondness in his expression.

"If you really want to help your father," he said, "talk to Amorado and
get him to sell.  The sooner we get this thing resolved, the better."

Tori left the meeting with Burton feeling drained.

Everything he said made sense.  He'd neither denied evicting people who
hadn't paid their rent nor apologized for letting superficial
maintenance slip.  So why this gnawing sense that she wasn't seeing the
entire picture?

Jesse Amorado was the one tilting at windmills.

Everyone else in Santa Marta had accepted the inevitability of the
Riverbend project.  Why was he being so stubborn?

His words kept echoing though her mind.  I want to build it up, not
tear it down.

Time to pay him another visit.

LATE AFTERNOON in the old Hispanic community was hectic.  But it was
also exciting.  Working people came home to kids playing boisterously
in the streets.  Lively Mexican music blared through open windows, and
there was a general atmosphere of festivity.

Her Corvette wasn't quite as much of a curiosity as it had been
earlier, but she still drew stares.  Some of the kids who'd greeted her
that morning waved to her now as if she were an old friend.

She turned a corner a few blocks from Jesse's place and immediately
encountered a crowd.  Men, women and children were standing in the
street, more or less facing a white clapboard house.  Tori recognized
it as one of Jesse's rentals.

She slowed her car to a crawl some distance away and watched a minute
to gauge the mood of the crowd.

There didn't seem to be anything threatening about the assembly.  In
fact, people were already parting to let her get by.  She drew closer
and opened her window to a woman standing on the edge of a sun-parched
lawn.

"What's going on?"

The woman glanced at her warily and said nothing.

"House got flooded," said the little girl by her side.

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Nah.  Just messed up the house real bad."

"Ruint all the furniture," a boy nearby offered with the fascination
children often show with disaster.

"Pipe busted."

Tori pulled the car to the side of the road and got out.  As she
approached the house, she felt the stares.

Suspicious stares, wondering what the Anglo wanted.

Several men, mostly in baggy work pants and sweaty T-shirts, hovered
around the door of the rail less porch, some looking in, some
talking.

"The plumbing is completely shot," one of the men said.

"I warned Jesse about the leaky pipe just the other day," someone else
said.

"I told him en esa caterfa, hay un escape."

"Everybody knows those old lead pipes are no good," a third man
offered.

"But Jesse said he couldn't get anyone to work on it until next week.
He figured that would be time enough," "What are we going to do?"  a
woman asked in Spanish.

"My new couch is mined, and I haven't even finished paying for it
yet."

Tori could see only a little of the inside of the house through the
curtainless front window and the open doorway.  The room was very small
and painted hot pink.  A black velvet painting of Our Lady of
Gu-ada-lupe hung on the wall behind the waterlogged couch.

In the corner, Tori glimpsed a statue of the Madonna atop a TV set.

She heard movement inside, and a moment later Jesse appeared at the
doorway.  He was soaked, his jeans molded to his thighs and hips.  The
red cotton shirt was plastered to the contours of his chest and
belly.

"Insurance will pay for your couch, Carmelita," he answered in Spanish.
He pulled up the bottom of his shirt and wiped the grime from his
sweaty face, revealing a fascinating washboard of stomach muscles.

"Or I will."

"But they won't fix the plumbing," one of the men reminded him.

"Same thing happened to my cousin's brother-in-law last year.  They pay
for some of the damage, or say they will, but not for what caused
it."

"I know," Jesse replied sympathetically.

His eyes collided with Ton's and he stopped in his tracks.  For a split
second she felt the warmth of welcome in their soft caress, but shock
quickly turned to embarrassment, then anger.

"What are you doing here?"  he challenged her in English.  The others
instinctively pulled back, giving them space.

"I was passing by---" "Sure.  The barrio--" he snapped out the word,
trilling the double rr violently "--just happens to be on your way home
to Woodhill."

"Well, no..."

The others around them were silent, listening, their steady glares
focused on her.

"Are you going to be able to fix whatever is broken?"

she inquired.

He ignored her and turned to the woman he'd called Carmelita and spoke
to her in rapid Spanish.

"Have you got someone to stay with tonight?"

"Si my sister."

"Good," he said in English, then reverted to Spanish.

"Maybe you can stay at her house for a while.

There's no way we can get this place dried and cleaned up tonight, and
I'm not sure how long the plumbing work will take."

"But what about my clothes?  That broken pipe shot right into the
closet.  I have to go to work in three hours and I don't have anything
to wear or for the children to sleep in.  There's no time to go to the
Laundromat."

He managed to extract his wallet from his wet, clinging jeans and
removed several large bills.  He handed them to her.

"This should be enough to buy some clothes for tonight."

"Please let me help," Tori said, opening her purse.

Feeling the people around her stir, she regretted her sudden impulse.
She should have gone more slowly, inquired how many children the woman
had, what their names and ages were, and then asked if she could
help.

"Keep your money, Miss Carr," Jesse snarled, while Carmelita stared
longingly at the blindfold in Ton's hand.

"I told you before, we take care of our own here."

She felt the people around her stiffen.  A minute ago she'd been merely
an outsider.  Now she was the enemy, and for a moment she was afraid.
Could their hostility turn violent?

She bit her lower lip.

"I'm trying to help, Mr.  Amo-rado."

"I think you and your father have done quite enough in Santa Marta.  We
don't need any more of your kind of help."

"I know what you think of my father," she replied as evenly as she
could.

"But you've got it all wrong.

He's not what you think.  At least let me do this to--" Someone in the
crowd behind her laughed harshly.

"It will take more than a few bucks to make up for what he's done here,
lady."

"Jesse's right," a woman shouted defiantly in an emotional mixture of
English and Spanish.

"We can take care of ourselves.  We don't need no grin ga giving us
charity.  I've got some clothes that will fit your Ramon and Emesto,
Carmelita."

"It's not charity," Tori insisted.

"I just want to help."

"Then leave," another woman shouted.

"We don't want you here."

An overpowering feeling of loneliness and isolation gripped her.  When
her mother was killed a few blocks from here, the residents of Santa
Marta had offered warmth, love and tears fora pob're niKa.  The last
thing she wanted was to hurt or offend these generous people.

"Jesse, please.  I--" "You heard them.  We don't need your help."

"Well, you need someone's," she retorted, anger finally overcoming
forbearance.

"The plumbing in this house is bad, and from the look of things---" she
pointed to a bare lightbulb dangling by two wires under the eaves by
the porch "--the wiring isn't any better."

"Goodbye, Miss Carr," Jesse said, placing his hand firmly on her
elbow.

CHAPTER FIVE

TORt Pulled OUT of Jesse's grasp and started back to her car, but he
followed, his presence looming behind her.  Seeing the contempt on the
faces around her, she found his closeness oddly reassuring.  Despite
his obvious displeasure, she felt safe with him, protected.

They reached her Corvette.  With one hand opening the door, he clasped
her arm with the other, releasing his grip only after she'd lowered
herself into the bucket seat.

Jesse's gaze, black with fury, sliced into her.  The raw power
emanating from' him was frightening, yet unexpectedly exciting.

She looked at his sodden shirt and remembered the rippled flesh under
it.  It's all distraction, she told herself, not attraction.

"You called my father a slumlord the other day.

Then, look around you Mr.  Amorado.  You're no better."

Hardly noticing, the people staring at her, she started the car and
slowly moved forward.  In a moment, she knew, she'd begin to shake from
the tension of the encounter.

She'd gone to Santa Marta with an idea to reconcile their business
interests.  She'd felt genuine sympathy for the plight of the woman
whose house had been flooded.  Her offer to help had been sincere and
unconditional.

Yet she'd come off looking vain and arrogant.

What was it about the man that disturbed her so much that everything
she did and said came out in the worst possible light?

THE DISASTER at Carmelita's house was only one of many problems that
plagued Jesse over the next few days and into the weekend.  He hadn't
finished his first cup of coffee Saturday morning, when he got a call
from Mrs.  Perez.  Her thirty-year-old refrigerator had finally given
up the ghost.  There was a broken back door at the Rodriguez house and
an electrical short at the Rosario place.  To cap it all off, old
Feliciano called to say he'd found termites around the back porch.  By
that night Jesse was exhausted from running from one crisis to
another.

"She's right," he told Espy late that evening.  They were at his house
having dinner.  He'd marinated strips of skirt steak in lime juice,
grilled them with onions and peppers and served it with pico de gallo
on flour tortillas.

"I am a slumlord."

"No, you're not," she consoled him.

"It's not your fault those houses weren't maintained right for years.

That's the reason you were able to buy them.  You're doing the best you
can."

"Well, my best right now isn't good enough.

There's far more work to be done than I have either the time or money
to do."

"What are you saying, Jesse?"  Her musical inflection had taken on an
all-too-familiar edge, making him feel even more exhausted.

"I'm saying maybe I should sell.  As desperate as Carr is to get his
hands on my properties, I should be able to demand a high price, higher
than I ever could otherwise."

"So you just Want the dinero."

He knew she was taunting him, but he wouldn't be insulted, not in his
own house.

"Damn it.  You know that isn't tree.  But with the kind of profit I'll
be able to get from the sale of these places, maybe I can do some real
good somewhere else."  ;

"And abandon Santa Marta?"

He wanted to tell her it was just a bunch of houses.

But that wasn't true, and that was the problem.  He would be deserting
the old Hispanic district that had given him and his family a home for
generations.  Santa Marta was the heritage of his parents and
grandparents, the place that had nurtured his people, seen them born
and laid to rest, witnessed their marriages and watched their children
grow.  Some had prospered and moved away.  A few had gone to prison and
come back.  But most of them had stayed and contributed to the rich
tapestry of life there, given it alma, soul.  Every street had its
cache of joys and tragedies.  Sometimes Jesse was convinced no farmer
could feel closer to the land than he did to the river-rimmed plat
called Santa Marta.

"I'm not abandoning it," he retorted, not convinced that what he was
saying was indeed the truth.

"I'm facing reality.  I'm the only holdout.  Everybody else has given
up."

"That's why you can't," Espy insisted vehemently.

The argument went on for another hour.  Jesse saw her home but didn't
accept her invitation to come in.

She rested her hands on his shoulders, drew him down to her level and
kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Buenas noches, mi amigo," she whispered, and was gone.

He turned and walked back to his own house.  He needed to savor the
barrio tonight, to be intoxicated by its fantasmas.  He knew it
couldn't stay the same.  Nothing could.  But he didn't want it
destroyed, either, and he certainly didn't want to play a part in its
destruction.

There was so much good here, the espiritu de la familia.

There was a lot of pain, too.  He thought sometimes the pain had
fashioned his people more than the joy, but it was those elusive
moments of joy that made it all worth enduring.

He was bone-weary when he finally went to bed aroUnd midnight.  Still,
he couldn't sleep.  He was a man on a tightrope.  A thin wire without
end.

What would be gained if he continued to resist Carr?

Would Santa Marta be saved?  For whom and for what?

The longer he waited, the worse conditions would get.

And what about the people who had already sold their homes?  Either
Carr would continue to rent the houses out until they completely
collapsed or he would tear them down.  In which case people would have
sold out for nothing.  As for Jesse's properties, in his current
financial condition they'd continue to deteriorate, their values
plummeting, as well.  In the end he might lose them, anyway.

He recollected the smug satisfaction Tori had shown when she'd turned
his words against him the other night.  Slumlord.

But he'd sensed immediate contrition, too, in the way she fumbled with
her keys to start the car.  Or was it simply the situation that made
her nervous?  In that instant he'd wanted to hold her, feel the silky
skin of her arm under his hand, calm her trembling body the way he
would a frightened child.

He turned on his side, uncomfortable with the heat his body was
generating.

No.  Not a child.  She was a woman ... and he was a man.

SATURDAY MORNING Tod resisted the temptation to drive through the
barrio to see what work was being done on Jesse's flooded rental house.
He'd made it clear that he and his people didn't want either sympathy
or support from her.

She had no difficulty picturing the face of Jesse Amorado.  Seeing his
anger.  And something else.  Hurt?

Shame?  Humiliation?  Those emotions were there, but there was more.
She searched for a word.  Pride.  Not the arrogance she'd often
encountered in Burton or the bravado that was so often stereotyped as
Latin machismo.

Jesse's pride was an underlying serf-assurance in himself as a man.
What was it Burton had called him?  The baron of the barrio.

Tori smiled to herself.  The title fit the proud man with the
work-hardened hands.

By Sunday afternoon she could stand it no longer.

She had to try to resolve the issue of Santa Matra.  She had to see
him.

It was after six when she drove through the old Hispanic neighborhood,
fast enough this time not to draw a following of kids, though a dog or
two still barked as she went by.  The rental house with the disastrous
plumbing looked deserted.  She drove the few blocks over to Jesse's
house.

The lawn was bright green with cheerful zinnias skirting the small
porch in front.  She pulled into the driveway just as Jesse came around
the side of the building.  He was bare-chested, pushing a wheelbarrow
weighed down with bags of steer manure.  Halfway across the front yard,
he saw her car and stopped, set-tied the ponderous load and stood up,
flexing his big hands.

For a moment they stared at each other, and in that silent span of time
she wondered if he was going to order her off his property.  But then
his deeply bronzed face creased into a polite, if somewhat forced,
smile.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Miss Carr?"  His tone was
guarded.

"I came to apologize," she said.

"For what?"

"For my lack of tact the other night."

He reached for the checkered red handkerchief dangling from his hip
pocket and wiped the sweat from his hands, face and the back of his
neck.  Walking over to her car, he opened the door.  She looked up at
the mesh of coarse black hair on his bare chest.

"Apology accepted.  But only if you'll accept mine for the same
reason."

He put his right hand out to seal the deal, and there was an unexpected
gentleness in his touch.  Then he tightened his grip and pulled to help
her out of the car.

Releasing her hand, he turned around and went to the porch rail.  She
leaned against the car and watched him pick up his T-shirt and put it
on.

"Your house is channing, Mr.  Amorado," she said, tearing her eyes away
from him long enough to take in the surroundings.

He chuckled, a deep rumble.

"Mr.  Amorado?"  His tone was teasing now.

"Not only did the air force take the girl out of West Texas, but they
seem to have taken the West Texan out of the woman."  His smile showed
even, sparkling white teeth.

"Why don't you just call me Jesse?"

"If you'll call me Tori."

"It's a deal, Tori."

Their glances met, acknowledging a mutual awareness, and quickly
separated again.  He stood beside her, and together they examined the
white clapboard building.

"My father built it for my mother right after they were married," he
said.

"It's nothing spectacular, nothing like what you're used to, but Dad
was always proud of it."

Was the statement a casual comment or a provocation?

"Is that why you still live here?"  she asked.

"I stay here during the week," he said.

"On weekends I usually go out to the ranch."

"You own a ranch?"

He chuckled.

"Actually, the bank owns it.  Just a few hundred acres.  Insignificant
by Texas standards."

He moved the wheelbarrow off the lawn to the edge of the concrete
driveway.

"Where did you go to school?"  she asked, trying very hard not to
fixate on the graceful lines of his arched back.

"Texas A and M."

He turned to her, grinning.  There was that pride again.

"An Aggiel" she exclaimed.

Texas Agriculture and Mining was one of the finest schools in the state
and the constant butt of jokes, as if the people who attended it were
dim-witted klutzes.

The ultimate joke, however, was, What do you call an Aggie after
graduation?  Answer: Boss.

She chuckled nervously.

"No Aggie jokes.  I promise."

He laughed, unconcerned.

"Don't worry.  I've heard them all and made up my share of them, to
boot."

He took the steps of the porch two at a time and opened the screen door
for her.

"I'm about ready for a break.  How about a cold drink?"

As she approached the doorway, a cool draft of humid air from the
evaporative cooler greeted her.  Stepping into a room that ran the full
width of the house, she felt instantly at home.  This was the Santa
Marta she remembered.  There was none of the staid formality of her
father's house in Woodhill.  This comfort was more casual, spontaneous,
warm and colorful.

"TN just be a minute," He strode down the hail.

"Make yourself at home," he sang out in the same deep baritone that had
initially captivated her in his office.

She studied the clay-potted house plants under the window beside an
overstuffed armchair.  The chair looked so inviting she wanted to sink
into the comfort of its sagging upholstery and soak in the ambience of
the room.  Jesse came back with a Way, which he placed on top of an old
Victrola.  He handed her one of the two large blue plastic glasses
filled with iced tea.

"It's unsweetened."  He moved the sugar bowl toward her.

She grinned at the cautious smirk he offered and the memory of his rich
but bitter coffee.

"This is fine."

He leaned against the doorway.

"This is a comfortable room," she commented, unnerved by the way he was
watching her.  Not ogling.

Appraising.

"It used to be a living and dining room.  I knocked out a wall here."
He waved an upraised arm at an imaginary line in the ceiling on the far
side of the front door.

"I did the same thing at the other end of the house.  Come take a
look."

She followed him through a narrow passageway, past a kitchen and
bathroom on one side of the hallway and a closed door opposite them.
The room at the far end stretched across the back of the house,
equaling in size the one in front.  To the right was a combination
sitting-and-dressing area and a big rolltop desk.

"You like antiques," she noted, stroking its polished sheen, trying to
ignore the big double bed at the other end of the room.

"They're our continuity with the past."

"And the future?"

He paused a moment as though weighing his next move, then crooked a
finger.

"Come with me."

He opened the door to the room they had passed.

Standing in the doorway, his hand still grasping the knob, he beckoned
her in with a nod.  Tori entered the small room and stopped.
Old-fashioned flowered wallpaper, torn and stained in a few places,
suggested it might once have been a bedroom.  It wasn't now.  A sheet
of plywood on sawhorses dominated the center of the limited space, and
displayed on it was a model village, reminding her of the model
villages set up at holiday time under Christmas trees and in store
windows.

She was very much aware of Jesse standing behind her as she leaned
forward and inspected the tiny houses and buildings, the flawlessly
paved streets, the miniature shrubs and trees, all neatly trimmed and
idyllic ally tidy.  No flaking paint or crumbling porches in this
pristine world.

"This is what I want to do with Santa Marta," Jesse commented.  He was
so close she could feel his breath on her ear.

The tips of his fingers were featherlight on her shoulders as he
sidestepped behind her.  His body heat warmed her and the electricity
between them made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  He stood
beside her and she had to control the sudden urge to lean into his
side.

Biting her lip and clasping her arms against the fluttering in her
belly, she tried to concentrate on the aerial view before her.  She
recognized enough of the houses--upgraded, painted, shuttered, more
stylishly roofed---to know she was looking at the old Mexican quarter.
A few buildings had been removed and replaced with parks and
playgrounds, a swimming pool and tennis courts.

"It's beautiful," she murmured "It's a wonderful dream."

The buzzing of cicadas wended its way through the partially opened
window opposite them.  A cardinal called, what-cheer, cheer, cheer.

She reached out and pointed to a large residence.

"That's your house, this house."  He'd enlarged the back, added a wing
on one side, replaced the wooden clapboard with stylish brick and
wrapped the entire building with a wide-columned porch.

"It's charming" He moved around to the side of the board and pointed
out other houses, as well.  The one that had been flooded, for example,
was bigger, its roof of silvery gray shingles replaced with Spanish
file.

"How do you propose to accomplish all this?"

He settled his weight on his fight hip.  She tried not to dwell on the
way his snug jeans shifted, accommodating themselves to his rugged
build.

"You mean, where's the money going to come from?"  he asked.

"You're not going to get anywhere," she said, "if you haven't got
capital, backing and connections."

He folded his arms across his chest, the hands tucked under his biceps.
God, he was sexy.

"Do you?"  she asked, not knowing what part of him to look at that
wouldn't make her heart skip a beat.

She took his silence as confirmation that he didn't.  Yet even his lack
of reply spoke of strength, not weakness.

"What about grants?"  she asked.

"There are all sorts of state and federal programs--"

He shook his head, then threaded his fingers through a raven's wing of
shiny black hair that had fallen over his brow.

"They're just another form of welfare," he responded

"We'll use our own sweat equity."

That pride again.

"What you want to do here is admirable," she continued.

"It's also impractical.  Santa Marta has hundreds of houses that need a
lot more than new roofs or siding.  At the rate you're going about it,
fixing up half a dozen places at a time, you'll never come close to
rescuing more than a fraction of the total."

He stared at her for what seemed an endless minute.

She fiddled self-consciously with the gold stud in her left ear and
wondered if the sunlight coming in the side window was making her
blouse translucent.  The idea Should be disconcerting, yet the thought
disturbed her in a way that had nothing to do with modesty.

"Look," she concluded, "my father's told me he's willing to give you
twenty-five percent over appraised value.  You can make enough profit
on your investments here to get a fresh start."

He laughed ironically.

"If I sell, you'll destroy Santa Marta and I won't have anything to put
the money into."

"The people who live here can move to other parts of town."  She wasn't
going to mention the east side again.  She'd checked.  He was right.
The crime rate there was appalling.

"You don't understand," he said.

"We've lived here, side by side, for generations.  We share a common
heritage.  We're not a bunch of strangers who just happen to live in
the same part of town, like the people in Woodhill Terrace.  Take us
out of Santa Marta, and you take something out of us, too."

She heard his words.  Even more, she felt their intensity and the
implacable truth beneath his frustration.

He'd shared something with her.  Not just a dream, but his pain and
disappointment.  She lifted her gaze from his curled hands to his high
cheekbones and the long, straight nose that lent his face a regal
dignity.  Peering into the black pools of his eyes, she expected to see
passion, the passion of hostility.  Instead what she found was desire.
It jolted her, then washed over her like a warm spring rain.

The room had suddenly grown uncomfortably small.

Too intimate, too full of implications.  Too full of a man who was
stirring her imagination far beyond real estate ventures.  She risked
another quick glance at him, only long enough to confirm the danger she
felt, a danger hose allure frightened her because she wanted to taste
more of it.

Silently, she edged out of the room.

"Thank you for the tea and the tour," she muttered nervously over her
shoulder while she made her way slowly toward the front door, hearing
his footsteps behind her.  She waited until she was on the porch before
daring to face him.  He smiled and she recognized the want in his eyes.
How could she tell him she understood, shared his yearnings?

"Thank you for coming," he said in a murmur so low and lonely it
brought a flutter to her chest.

He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the porch
steps, then slipped his hold to the outside of her hip.  Together they
descended to the walk.  For one rapturous moment she imagined her whole
body being surrounded by his arms.  The notion brought a fresh wave of
heat.

"I think you underestimate the quality of your people, Jesse."  Head
bent, engrossed in the path that lay before her, she dared not glance
up at him for fear of tripping on the uneven path.

"And their resilience.

They're stronger than you're giving them credit for."

He walked her to her car in silence, his hand slipping up to her waist.
Any higher, she thought, and I'll melt.

"Your goals for Santa Marta are lofty."  Her chin came up defiantly, as
if she could quell the magpies fluttering in her stomach.

"But they're unrealistic."

She took a deep breath.

"I suspect you know that.  I hope you'll reconsider my father's
offer."

He opened the car door and handed her in.  Again the gentle strength of
his fingers closed around hers.

They held her captive a little longer than necessary, yet not long
enough.

"Thank you for coming," he said warmly, then added, "but ray properties
are not for sale."

Her hand shook as she turned the key in the ignition, the reverberation
of the engine producing loud barks from a neighbor's dog.

She drove away in turmoil.  She'd apologized for her insensitivity and
gotten him to recognize his own.  What happened after that had been
completely unexpected.

He'd shown her a carefully crafted model of Santa Marta that,
unfortunately, could only be realized at the expense of Carr
Enterprises.

But there was a bigger rub.  Deep down, she wished he could succeed.
And almost irrationally, she wanted to be part of that success.

MONDAY MORNING Ton's father called a strategy meeting in his office.
Burton had arrived only a few minutes before.

The mood as they sat around the conference table at the far end of
Winslow's office was sober and businesslike.

Tori noticed her father looked tired, like a man who had just returned
from a rough weekend, though she knew he wasn't a drinker.

They sipped their coffee while Tori told them about her latest
encounters with Amorado, about the small but disastrous flood at one of
Jesse's rental houses last week and her follow-up visit to his house
Sunday afternoon.

She didn't go into detail, of course, didn't tell them that his ideas
were beginning to tweak her imagination.

She just said he was still adamant in his refusal to sell.

"Maybe if we sweeten the pot," her father suggested.

"Tori offered him twenty-five percent over appraisal.

Maybe we should go higher."

Burton had been quiet until then.  He, too, looked drawn, haggard. He'd
left Friday afternoon to spend the weekend in Austin visiting friends. 
Tori wondered if one of those friends might be a woman.  It didn't
matter, of course.  They had no claims on each other.

But as she recounted the circumstances under which she'd met Jesse on
Sunday evening, she couldn't help noticing the intense expression on
his face.  Was it disapproval of her tactics or was it jealousy?  The
first alternative irritated her; the latter she found amusing.

"We can go to fifty percent easily," Burton said.

"No appraisal is going to be very high in that neighborhood.

We can afford to be generous."

"Or look like we are," she shot back, knowing there was no generosity
in the gesture.  The unfortunate deterioration of Santa Marta was
working in their favor.

Her father waived her comments aside.

"Whatever works.  We've got everything tied up in Riverbend.  It's do
or die."

Tori had always done her best under Pressure, whether competing for
honors at the academy or playing intercollegiate tennis tournaments.
Except this wasn't a test or a game.  This was real life.  Not only did
the destiny of Carr Enterprises ride on Jesse's decision, so did the
fate of his beloved barrio.  And what about her and Jesse?  The
possibilities were tantalizing.

There was no mistaking the attraction she'd felt while in his house. No
denying he'd felt it, too.

"If you still think you can bring Amorado around," Burton continued,
"that's great.  But if not, please say so.  I've had a little bit of
experience handling situations like this."

She sensed that her father was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.  He
poured them more coffee from the carafe in the middle of the table.

"Have you got any specific suggestions on how we might approach him?"
he asked her.

"What he wants is to preserve something of the old Mexican quarter.  He
showed me a mock-up of what he thinks it should look like."

"His etchings?"  Burton quipped.

Winslow's steel blue eyes shot daggers at Burton, who exhaled sharply
and settled back into the plush leather armchair.

Tori ignored the body language between the two men.

"So maybe we can help him."

"How?"  they asked simultaneously.

Tori was in a quandary.  How could she reasonably present Jesse's
position without appearing to advocate it?

"Jesse wants to upgrade the existing houses in the barrio," she said,
trying to sound detached, objective.

"At least the ones that can be improved.  He wants to tear down those
that can't and put in parks and other recreational facilities.  It's a
good plan."  She saw a sub-tlc smile on Bur Tori face.

"But unrealistic, since he no longer has access to other properties and
the price would be prohibitive."

"Damn right," Burton interjected.

"So what's your idea?"  her father asked calmly.

Tori pushed her chair back, grateful for the opportunity to flex her
tensed muscles.  She'd been toying with a strategy all night.  She
pointed to the map on her father's office wall.

"This spur of Santa Malta where Jesse lives will end up behind the park
as a sort of separate enclave.  We own the other six houses there in
addition to a couple of vacant lots.  Why not offer them to him in
exchange for the six houses he has scattered all over the district?"

Winslow Carr studied the map.

"You mean reduce his barrio to that one little area?  From what you've
said, I don't think that's what he has in mind."

"We're going to build the clubhouse and three of our most expensive
residences there!"  Burton objected.

"Build them here instead."  Tori indicated an adjacent area where less
expensive houses were planned.

"Hmm.  Yes.  It has possibilities," her father said.

"What do you propose, an even trade?"

"I think we'll still have to pay him something for his Santa Marta
properties.  For one thing, he'll need capital to fix up the ones he'll
be getting from us."

"That's a pretty expensive compromise," Burton muttered as he studied
the map.  He addressed Winslow Can'.  "We'd be giving up a quarter of a
million dollars in potential profit even before paying him for those
shacks of his.  Still, since it means he could keep his own house, it
might work.  What do you think, Win?"

Her father still looked unconvinced.  His hesitation worded her, not
because it suggested lack of confidence in her judgment, but because it
betrayed an uncharacteristic distrust of his own.  It was Burton who
finally made the decision.

"Okay, Tori.  You seem to be developing some rapport with this guy.  Go
ahead and set up a meeting and let's see how he responds."

CHAPTER SIX

ESPY MUST HAVE SENSED Jesse's ambivalence on Saturday night, because
she arrived at the office earlier than usual Monday.

"What have you decided to do?"  she demanded.

He continued examining the blueprints he'd laid out on a drafting table
near the window.

"I'm going to make a deal with Carr."

He wasn't surprised when she exploded and called him a traitor.  He let
her rave on for some time while he fixed coffee and gave her a
cup--which, at one point, he seriously thought she was going to throw
at him.

"Are you finished now?"  he asked with stoic patience when she finally
stopped to catch her breath.

"If you are, perhaps you'll give me a chance to explain what my
conditions with Can' are going to be."

Grudgingly she plopped down in the seat Tori had occupied a week
before, added an exorbitant amount of sugar to his special blend,
poured milk and glared at him.

"Well?"

He spent the next haft hour going over the strategy he'd spent most of
his sleepless night working out.  It was a gamble, but it might work.

Espy's temper was as quick to subside as it was to flare.  She sat
quietly listening to him, admiring his approach but ultimately doubting
that Winslow Carr would go along with it.

"He has no Choice," Jesse told her.

"If he doesn't agree to my conditions, he'll end up losing Riverbend
altogether--unless he thinks he can build around my homes."  He
laughed.

"Can't you just see Rosario's place between two mansions?  I'm sure his
broken-down Ford and old Chevy pickup will make quite a fashion
statement."

Espy remained dubious.  Jesse wasn't sure whether it was over the
conditions of his plan or his sincerity.

"I'm going to make an appointment with Carr for ten o'clock this
morning," he told her.

"Come along with me."  She brightened.

"But keep your mouth shut.  I do the talking.  Comprende?"

"Yes, Jesse," she said demurely.

LYDIA WAS AWAY from her desk when the phone rang.

Tori picked it up on the third ring and was surprised to hear the deep
masculine voice that would have been familiar even if the caller hadn't
introduced himself.

Jesse didn't waste time on amenities.

"I'd like to stop by to meet with you and your father at ten."

It was remarkably short notice, and the appointment book on Lydia's
desk showed a we buyer coming in at that time, but a meeting with the
competition at this point was far more important than a meeting with a
client.  The other appointment would have to be rescheduled.

"Ten o'clock will be fine, Mr.  Amorado ... Jesse."

She thought she detected a smile in his inflection as he thanked her
and rang off.

Her father was standing at the coffee bar helping himself to a second
cup of decaf when Tori hung up.

"What do you think he has in mind?"  he asked.

Burton stepped out of his office, obviously pleased.

"Sounds like Amorado's ready to sell.  Nice work, Tod."

"Don't compliment me yet," she warned.

"We've yet to have a meeting of the minds.  Let's see what he has to
say when he gets here."

The prospect of seeing Jesse Amorado again stirred contrary emotions in
Tod.  His strength was captivating, his determination intimidating.
Which made him a formidable opponent.  Those qualities also made her
apprehensive--which she found stimulating as well.

What she wasn't prepared for was the presence of his business
associate.  Espy was dressed more modesty than she had been at the
Manor, but the teal-and-burgundy pantsuit she now wore was no less
chic.  The long string of wooden beads didn't seem to know if they
should surround her generous breasts or slink between them.  The calm
submissiveness with which she followed Jesse's lead seemed to Tori only
a facade.

"Good morning again," Tod said to Jesse, and felt her hand engulfed in
his.  She turned brightly to Espy.

"I'm glad you could make it.  You met Mr.  Hazlitt the other
evening."

Tori watched Burton with amusement.  Did he know his mouth was open and
he was staring?  Well, only for a moment.  But it was comical.

"This is my father.  Dad, this is Espy Mendez.  We knew each other as
kids."

"Thank you for coming, Mr.  Amorado," said Wins-low, as if he'd invited
them.

"I'm pleased to meet you Miss Mendez.  Didn't I see you at the Manor
the other evening?"

Espy cocked an eyebrow, clearly surprised he'd no-riced her.

After they were seated at the conference table in his office, Winslow
seized the initiative.

"I think we've come up with a compromise that may interest you Mr.

Amorado."

Glancing at Tori, Jesse said, "Your daughter indicated you're willing
to pay twenty-five percent over appraisal."

"Yes, but under this new proposal--" "I'm afraid that won't do."  He
turned to Winslow.

"The deterioration of your holdings in Santa Marta has severely
depressed everyone else's real property values there, as well.  Any
appraisal at this time would grossly underestimate the fair market
value of my property."

Burton interrupted.

"The depressed state of the barrio---" Tori shuddered at the word and
wished he hadn't used it "--is precisely why we're willing to pay a
premium."

"You're the ones who've wrecked Santa Marta," Espy said hotly.

"If it weren't for you--" "Miss Mendez," Burton broke in, "we are not
solely responsible for conditions in Santa Mbxta.  We are, in fact,
only minority holders."

"Minority holders!"  Espy exploded.  Jesse signaled her to silence with
the wave of his hand.  She fumed openly but held her tongue.

"I'm not interested in playing a game of semantics, Mr.  Carr."  He
deliberately ignored Burton Hazlitt.

"I

am fully aware your company owns forty-five percent of the property in
Santa Marta.  I also know you are the active agents for another thirty
percent.  Except for my six properties, you've bought options on all
the rest-options that you must exercise within thirty days."

Tori was impressed.  He'd done his homework.

"I also know," Jesse continued, "you intend to demolish all of them for
this Riverbend project of yours."

Burton was about to say something else, but this time Winslow cut him
short.

"What do you suggest, Mr.  Amorado?"

"Not suggest--demand!"  Espy blurted out.

Jesse cast a stabbing look at her, forcing her again into unwilling
silence.

"Considering what not getting my properties could cost you Mr.  Carr, I
want seventy thousand dollars apiece for my five rental houses and one
hundred and fifty thousand for my own house."

The only sound was the moan of the air-conditioning.

Tori looked at her father.  He seemed momentarily stunned, then mildly
amused.

"Five hundred thousand dollars for less than two acres of land?" Burton
finally muttered, amazement mixed with awe at the boldness of the
proposal.

"That's absolutely out of the question."

The shock effect of his demand obviously pleased "Well, that part's
negotiable," he conceded offhandedly.  Then his tone hardened.

"The rest isn't."

Winslow and his daughter exchanged glances.

"The rest?"  she asked.

"By destroying Santa Marta, you are destroying the homes and
neighborhood of a lot of people who, in spite of what you might think:
take great pride in their community.  In exchange for the land you'll
be taking from the people there, I want you to contribute an equal
amount of land in the Coyote Mesa area."

Tod had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She'd been prepared for an outrageous sale price.  She could have
negotiated that.  But this demand went far beyond anything imaginable,
and the expressions on the faces of her father and Burton reflected the
same shock.

"Mr.  Amomdo," her father said patiently, "Coyote Mesa is a newly
platted subdivision only recently incorporated by the city.  No one has
even registered building plans there yet."

"That's preposterous," Burton sputtered, something Tod had never seen
him do before.  She found it perversely gratifying.

"Next you'll want us to put in housing for your people there, too."

"No, Mr.  Hazlitt.  I'll build the housing.  You need only guarantee my
loan for seed capital in the amount of five million dollars."

Espy smiled smugly.

Tori had to stop herself from laughing.  Her own words coming home to
haunt her again.  Hadn't she been the one yesterday who pointed out the
need for venture capital?

Burton looked as if he were about to slam his fist on the table until
Winslow shot him a stern warning glance.  Patiently, he addressed their
visitor.

"Mr.  Amorado, we don't own any land there, and purchasing it... Well,
such an undertaking in itself would be cost-prohibitive.  As for
guaranteeing your loan--" "What you pay me for my property is
negotiable," Jesse countered, "but unless you are willing to cede as
much land as you are taking and support its development, there won't be
any deal.  As for ownership," he added, "you may not personally own any
property on the mesa, but your associates, the people who are
bankrolling this venture, do.  I suggest you discuss it with them.  I
think the alternatives are quite plain.  Either you accept my offer or
you give up Riverbend.  Because," he concluded ominously, "I'm also
prepared to legally contest every move you make, every petition for
zoning variance you file, every request for public utilities you
submit."

"Is there no room for compromise?"  Tod asked.

"No, Miss Carr," Jesse said coldly.

"There will be no compromise."

"Mr.  Amorado, I understand why you want land for the people of Santa
Matra," Winslow stated politely.

"But to expect us to purchase land, back you to build on it and then
just give it up ... it's unreasonable."

Until that point, Jesse's manner had been firm but businesslike.  Now
it turned positively frigid.

"Would it have been unreasonable to expect you to maintain the
properties you bought in Santa Marta to the same standards you maintain
in other parts of town?"  He cast a contemptuous glance at Burton, who
remained defiantly passive, then looked back at the senior partner.

"Would it have been unreasonable for you to ensure basic standards of
safety were being met?"

Winslow blanched and looked over at Burton, who seemed intent on
examining his fingernails.

Jesse Amorado rose from the leather chair.  Espy jumped instantly to
her feet.

"There are my terms, Mr.  Carr," Jesse concluded casually.

"Take 'em or leave 'em."

Winslow Carr, struggling to control his temper, stood up, as did
Tori.

"I'm not sure we can meet all your conditions," he said.

"You're right about one thing.  Without your properties, Riverbend, as
presently conceived, cannot happen.  I sincerely do want it to happen,
Mr.  Amorado.  So give me some time to see how I can satisfy your
requirements."

Jesse faced him, his demeanor implacable.

"You can reach me at my office during the day or at my home in the
evening.  Both numbers are in the book.  if I'm not there, leave a
message."

Winslow moved from the head of the conference table and offered his
hand.  Jesse accepted it politely.

"Thank you for coming by, Mr.  Amorado.  Miss Mendez."

Jesse moved leisurely to the door, totally ignoring Burton, who'd also
gotten to his feet.  Espy was fight behind Jesse, her eyes hard,
gleaming.  Tod moved into the doorway just enough to block her easy
exit.

"It's been nice seeing you again, Espy," Espy stared blankly for a
moment, as if she didn't quite know what to say, then accepted Ton's
outstretched hand.

"Yeah, me, too," she mumbled, and fled.

The door was firmly shut before Winslow turned to his partner.

"I know we're letting cosmetics slip, but what's this about our failing
to maintain minimum safety standards in Santa Marta?"

Burton plopped down in the chair he'd previously occupied, his legs
outstretched in a casual pose of indifference.

"Words, Win.  Perceptions.  He's got no proof that our houses are any
less safe than anybody else's."

Tori watched with concern as her father's face flushed with anger.

"We're not talking about other people's houses," he rebuked him in a
hard voice.

"We're talking about ours."  He ran his fingers through his graying
hair.

"Peeling paint is one thing, but I will not risk the safety and welfare
of families to save a few dollars."

Burton sat up straight, drawing his short, thick legs under him.

"Check the records if you don't believe me."  He shifted his defiance
to Tori.

"We use the same licensed plumbers and electricians in the barrio as we
do in other parts of town, and we pass all our safety inspections."

Tori was more concerned about her father than she was about responding
to Bur Tori challenge.  She poured him a glass of water from the carafe
on the table and handed it to him.

He smiled but avoided looking her in the eye.  His hand, she noticed,
wasn't quite steady as he accepted the drink.

"I guess I'm going to have to drive through the barrio more often," he
muttered, and took a sip.

A minute passed.  The atmosphere cooled.

"You're not serious about trying to meet those ridiculous demands?"
Burton questioned his partner.

Tori could sense the temper, the outrage in his voice.

He'd been called to task and didn't like it Winslow Carr slid back in
his seat, apparently unaware of his associates lingering emotions.

"I'm serious about trying to find a way to appease him," he observed.

"I know there's no way we can meet his conditions as they stand.  But
at least we've got him talking to us."

He took another swallow of water and explained to his daughter,
"There's always private investment money available to develop middle
and upper-income housing.  But not for low-income housing.  The only
source for that kind of financing is the government, and frankly, I
don't think we have a chance of getting any,

at least not for Coyote Mesa, and certainly not in time for us to
proceed on Riverbend."

WHEN Tori CAME into the office the next morning, Burton was telling her
father he'd called a buddy of his at city hall and arranged
everything.

"What's been arranged?"  she asked.  Burton seemed very pleased with
himself.

He sipped from the coffee mug hooked in his right hand.

"Amorado put on a good show yesterday, but I suspect that's all it was,
a show.  His girlfriend was pretty quick to blame us for the
deterioration of the barrio, but if you look around, his houses aren't
in exactly showcase condition.  If he's so damned proud of his
neighborhood, why isn't he maintaining his places better?"

A fair question, Tori thought, one that had been bothering her ever
since she'd called him a slumlord.

"He's building houses over in Oakdale on spec," she ventured.

"Maybe he's got the same kind of cash-flow problems we have."

"That's exactly how I see it," Burton said, nodding approval of her
analysis.

"So let's turn up the pressure.

Let's give him a little more of an incentive to sell to us."

"How?"  Tori asked, suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

"rye arranged for a building inspector to go out and take a look at
Amorado's flooded house.  If the water damage is only haft as bad as
you say, it'll be condemned on the spot.  As soon as that happens, the
bank will have no choice but to call in his loans, not just on that
house but on his others, too, in order to protect their investments."
Burton gave her a vicious grin.

""All we have to do is wait for the foreclosure sales and gobble up his
properties, all of them, probably at less than appraised value."

Ton's insides tightened.

"You can do that?"

"I've got connections downtown."  He smiled complacently.

"All's fair in love and war.  This is the war part."

Was he telling her he'd seen through her attempt at poised detachment
from Jesse the day before?  The amused gleam in his hazel eyes said
just that.  She stared at him without flinching until he squirmed.

"Look, I'm not suggesting we do anything illegal," he insisted.

"Just using the weapons we have at our disposal."

"And I'm just wondering," she responded, "if our houses in Santa Marta
can withstand the same scrutiny.

Isn't turnaround fair play?  Won't the inspectors inevitably have to
look at our houses in Santa Marta, as well--if not at Jesse's
insistence, then at his lawyer's?"

Her father, who had been quietly sipping coffee, sat up in his chair.

"She's right.  We have a lot more to lose if this gambit backfires."

"It won't," Burton assured them both.

"We've got enough clout downtown to make sure it doesn't."

"What about our reputation when word gets out?"

Tori countered.

"And it will."  She turned to her father.

"Is that how yon want Can' Enterprises to be known?"

Winslow rose heavily to his feet, his face red.

"Call off the dogs, Burton," he ordered, and marched from the room.

Tori was decidedly unhappy with the way things were going.  She didn't
consider herself naive, but she had to admit she was surprised by the
tactics Burton was proposing to use against a business rival.
Technically not illegal, perhaps, but certainly unethical.  Her
father's reaction disturbed her, too.  Had his anger been aimed at
Burton for his unscrupulous scheme, or at her for putting him on the
spot?  Would he have backed Burton if she hadn't goaded him into
rejecting the idea?

The other question that kept coming to mind was what Jesse's reaction
would he if he learned that they'd schemed to have his property
condemned.  She knew he would fight back.  His pride wouldn't let him
do otherwise.  But how?  She couldn't imagine him stooping to the same
kind of underhanded tactics, but he'd have to do something.

IT WAS AFTER FIVE when Tori drove over to the Spanish Arms on South
Travis Street.  Espy's apartment was on the second floor of a long
barracks like building of rough-cut vertical siding, up an outside
flight of steel-and-concrete stairs that rang and vibrated with each
step.  Tori pressed the button under the tarnished brass nameplate to
the apartment on the left and heard a muffled buzz inside.  A moment
later the door opened the length of a security chain.

There was no mistaking the look of surprise on Espy's face, followed by
what Tori interpret ted as annoyance, though it could have been anger
or even hostility.

"Hello, Espy," Tori said pleasantly.

"I thought I'd take a chance and drop by."  Espy's full mouth turned
down slightly at the corners, and Tori felt distinctly unwelcome.

"I hope this isn't an inconvenient time.

Maybe I should have called first."

Wordlessly Espy shut the door, released the chain and swung the door
open wide.

"Come in," she said tightly.

Tori stood in the small, dark entry while Espy re-secured the chain,
then followed her into the living room, where miniblinds were drawn up,
filling the room with brilliant summer light.

"Sit down," Espy invited without making any move to sit herself.

"You want some sun tea?"

Tori remained standing and forced a pleasant smile.

"Thanks," she said.

"That'd be great."

While Espy made domestic noises in the kitchenette, Tori strolled over
to the entertainment center, her eye caught by a collection of framed
photos clustered above a shelf of hardcover and paperback books.  She
couldn't miss the picture of Jesse Amomdo, snug jeans and T-shirt
provocatively shadowed by streaks of sunlight.

A wave of black hair arched over one eye, giving him a rakish look.

Espy handed her a sweaty glass of iced tea.

"Leave him alone, Tori.  He's not your type."

Ton's are flared.  What is my type?  she wanted to demand.  And who are
you to decide it?

Instead she insisted tersely, "My only interest in Jesse is business.
He owns some property my father wants to buy."

"Yeah, sure, right," Espy snorted.

"Who do you think you're kidding?  I saw the two of you gawking at each
other over dinner the other night and at your office yesterday."

Ton's palm, grew damp.  She didn't like being called a liar or getting
caught in equivocation.

"Is that what this is about--Jesse?"

Espy's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you mean?"

"Espy, we haven't seen each other in years.  We were friends once, and
now you treat me as if I've offended you in some way.  I'd like to know
why.  If it's about Jesse... Are the two of you going together?

Are you afraid I'll try to take him away from you?"

Espy laughed, then sighed.

"I'd like to marry Jesse, or someone like him.  Este es muy macho. He's
the one who insists on keeping it only a friendship."

A surge of relief rippled through her.

"Well, if it's not Jesse, what is it?"

The sentimental Mexican ballad that had been playing softly on the
radio was abruptly replaced with a brassy rock number.  Espy shut it
off violently.

"You really don't have a clue, do you?"

Even as a little girl, Espy seemed always on the point of crying or
having a fit of temper.  Tod never quite understood why.  The woman's
glower now was so harsh Tori was forced to back away.

"Friends, huh?  Don't make me laugh.  Friends are supposed to have
things in common.  What do we have?"

"Our childhood.  We grew up together."

"Grew up together?"  Espy repeated, her low voice sharp at the edges.

"What do you know about how I grew up?  You never came to my house, and
you sure as hell never invited me to yours.  So tell me, what did we
have in common?  You, the beautiful Victoria Carr, with an educated
mama and a rich daddy, and me, just another Mexican brat."

Tod was taken aback by the bitterness in her words.

"No, Tori," Espy snarled, "we have nothing in common.  While your daddy
was making killings in real estate, mine was either home beating my
mother or getting thrown in jail for being drunk and disorderly."

She glared at Tori with large, hostile eyes.

"Well, he finally had the fight of his life.  He got stabbed to death
in a bar over some stupid game.  Didn't know that, did you?  Of course
not.  Who cared?  Not me.  At least he wasn't beating up on Mama and me
anymore."

Tori reached out for her hand but Espy turned her back.

"Espy, I'm sorry," Tori said, knowing the words were totally
inadequate.

"I had no idea."

"While you were going to your fancy academy," Espy continued as if she
hadn't heard, "I had to work full-time to put food on the table for my
kid brothers and sisters ... and buy my mother medicine so the cancer
wouldn't hurt so much."

"I didn't know," Tori repeated, shocked by what she was hearing.

"No--" Espy spun around and shouted back at her "---you didn't care."

"That's not true.  If you'd told me what was going on, I would have
helped."

Espy laughed, an ugly, hysterical sound, full of terrible pain.

"How?"

"There are laws against wife and child abuse.  My mother--' Espy's lips
curled in a cruel parody of a smile.

"After what happened to your mama, you must know laws don't work."

Tori felt a sudden surge of outrage.  She didn't want to be reminded of
her mother lying on the floor, her life's blood oozing away.  She
fought to control the pain of the memory.

"Why didn't you ever answer my letters?"  she managed to ask.

For a moment, Espy's temper seemed suspended.

"Letters?  What letters?"

"After my mother ... died ... and my father made me stay home with a
sitter after school, I wrote to you.

Long letters, telling you how much I missed you.  But you never
answered me."

Sudden tears welled in Espy's eyes, and for a moment her voice became
soft, pleading--the hurt sound of a little girl abandoned.

"Did you really write me, or are you just saying that?"

"I did write, Espy, many limes."

Espy turned away and faced the picture window overlooking the pool,
arms crossed under her breasts as she hugged herself.  The fire in her
eyes was gone when she spoke, her words now low, thoughtful and
mournfully sad.

"So that's what Mama was so mad at him about.  I remember Papa ranting
and raving about something, then tearing up papers and flushing them
down the toilet."

She looked at Tori, her eyes moist and red-rimmed.

"It must have been your letters he was tearing up."

The sense of irretrievable loss was overwhelming, and for the first
time since coming here, Tori felt they were sharing something
together.

"The filthy bastard," Espy muttered, then spun around and hurled her
next words out rebelliously.

"I'm glad he's dead."

Tori watched the play of emotions on Espy's face.

What kind of love-hate relationship had she had with her father?  Tori
remembered Mr.  Mendez picking up Espy at the Gufierrez house only
once.  Espy had hesitated, pulling back, evaluating the man when he
called.

Then she'd run to him and been swallowed up in his thick brown arms and
cuddled against his chest.  Now Tori was hearing he also beat her and
her mother.  A cold shiver went down her spine.

"I'm sorry he hurt you and your mom," she said, and watched Espy's eyes
grow cold.

Espy sank into an overstuffed chair.

"It was a long time ago," she murmured.

Tod needed to steer the conversation away from such ugly memories.  She
glanced back at the cluster of photos on the wall Among them, holding
prominence, was a certificate in an oversize document frame.

A graduation equivalency diploma.  It was odd seeing this lowest of
educational awards prestigiously displayed the way doctors and lawyers
presented their credentials.

The achievement was obviously important to Espy.  Tod looked more
closely.  The date above the stamped signature showed it was less than
a year old.

"You managed to finish school, I see.  Congratulations."

Espy said nothing.  Tod could feel the tension emanating again from her
old playmate.  Perhaps she was suspicious that Tod might be laughing at
her.

"Are you planning to go on to college?"  She sat on the couch and
reached for her tea.  The ice was nearly melted.

"If I can get tuition assistance.  Henry Martin, our councilman, says
he's going to get me a Bennett scholarship."

The Bennett scholarship fund was a private endowment earmarked for high
school minority graduates who couldn't afford to go to college.
Competition for it was high.

"What will you study?"

She felt Espy ganging her, trying to decide if the question was sin
core or some sort of trick to make fun of her.  Tori held her gaze.

"I'd like to go into medical research so I can help find a cure for the
cancer that killed my mother.  She shouldn't have had to die."

Tori didn't doubt Espy's sincerity for a moment.

"Then do it."

Espy shook her head "I haven't got the money and I'm not smart enough.
I didn't even finish high school."

"Because your mother and the family came first."

Tori pointed to the framed certificate on the wall.

"You're not stupid, Espy.  You got your diploma.  You can do whatever
you set out to do.  Go for it."

Espy rose from the chair and began pacing like an animal in a cage,
which, Tori thought, was probably how she felt.

"Maybe I can help, if you'll let me," Tori offered.

"What?  How?  Give me money?"  '"No," she replied evenly.

"But there are scholarships and grant programs that go begging every
year because people don't know about them or how to apply for them. Let
me help you find them.  I can give yon a hand with the applications. 
Believe me, I can fill out paperwork in triplicate with the best of
them."

"You would do that for me?"

"Isn't that what friends are for, helping each other?"

Espy's face brightened.  There was something not only beautiful but
magical about her expression.  Then suddenly it turned glum.

"I can't ... won't give you what you want in exchange."

Ton's head jerked up.

"What I want?"

"For me to convince Jesse to sell to your father."

So Espy thought this visit was to get something from her.  The idea of
so much distrust, so much suspicion of always being used was
heartbreaking.

"There are no conditions, Espy.  As far as Riverbend is concerned ...
Jesse showed me the model at his house of what he wants Santa Marta to
look like."

"You were in his house?"  She blinked in surprise and perhaps with a
flicker of jealousy in her eyes.

"Then he told you about his brother?"

"His brother?"

"About Miguel."

"No," Tod admitted, and licked her lips against a sudden dryness.
Intuition told her that what she was about to hear wouldn't make things
easier.

"Jesse didn't tell you Miguel built that model?"

"No.  He only showed it to me."  He was damned proud of it, too, she
almost added.

"What about Miguel?"

She needed all the facts if she was going to deal with the situation
effectively-deal with Jesse honestly.

Espy dropped back into a chair, her feet flat on the floor, her hands
dangling over the armrests.

"Miguel was five years younger than Jesse and idolized him.

Their papa, Fernando, did a lot of repair work in the barrio, among our
people.  He worked cheap.  Knew people didn't have much money.

"Jesse expanded the business in other parts of town.

Got into construction.  Miguel joined them when he graduated from high
school."

Espy reached over to the coffee table and picked up her glass of tea.
She took a slow sip and went on.

"When Jesse started making decent money, he began renovating his
parents' house.  After the old man dropped dead of a heart attack a few
years ago, Miguel came up with the idea of fixing up the rest of Santa
Marta the way they had their own house."  Espy rested her head back on
the chair.

"What happened to Miguel?"  Tori asked.

"Killed in a drive-by shooting last year.  It was stupid.

Gangs.  We never used to have gangs in Santa Marta before.  We do now.
Maybe killing Miguel was part of some initiation ritual.  Who knows?
He'd just stopped off at the Quickie Mart to pick up some milk and
bread and ice cream for the kids.  God, he loved Lupe and those kids.
He was getting back into his car when the gang bangers wheeled by and
shot him."

Tod shivered.

"Did they catch whoever did it?"

"The police picked up a couple of teenagers, but their buddies gave
them an alibi and they were released."

Espy scowled.

"So if you think Jesse's going to let you tear down Santa Marta, you're
wrong.  He'll never let you destroy his brother's dream."

CHAPTER SEVEN

ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Jesse drove to Oakdale, where the last of the
three family residences he was building on speculation was nearing
completion.  His father had supervised the construction of the first
one.

Then, after he died, Jessehad let Miguel oversee the second one.  The
two brothers had gotten together every morning at the building site to
share a thermos of coffee and breakfast burritos, talk about their
plans for rebuilding Santa Marta and laugh at the latest antics of
Miguel's kids.

Jesse thought about Tod standing over the make-believe community he'd
shown her Sunday afternoon.

She didn't understand how much his barrio meant to him, didn't realize
he couldn't abandon it without feeling he was betraying Miguel.

He left his cell phone in the cab of the truck and walked around to the
back door.  Kitchen cabinets were being installed this morning, and he
took extra time to make sure the finishing touches, the details by
which clients judged the quality of a house, were as meticulously
executed as the structural components.

Satisfied his crew was productively on the job, he headed for the
airport.  Sam Hargis wanted him to do a relatively minor renovation
job--partition off a corner of his old hangar to use as office space.

It wouldn't be a big moneymaker, but the wily old aircraft mechanic had
business interests all over town, and Jesse had the feeling Hargis was
testing him.  If he did this job right, he'd intimated, there'd be more
work coming.

That had been the day Tori had flown in on a wing and a prayer.

Jesse still remembered the fascination he'd felt as he watched the
crippled Cessna touch down and glide to a stop in the middle of the
runway and the way his gut had tightened when he saw the cool blonde
emerge from the side door of the plane.  He hadn't realized who she was
until he'd seen her embrace Winslow Carr.

AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, Jesse and Sam were shaking hands in the
corner of the huge wooden structure, sealing their deal, when a bright
flash of color streaked by the side door from the parking lot.  The red
Corvette might as well have been a flag waved in front of a bull.  When
Tori came around the corner of the hangar, his heartbeat went up a few
notches.  Her step seemed lighter, her expression more cheerful, her
golden hair less disciplined than any other time he'd seen her.

She stepped into the shadowy structure, removed her aviator sunglasses
and paused long enough to let her vision adjust to the gloom.  Then she
brightened perceptibly and strode toward them.

"Hello, Sam," she said easily.

"I hear my plane's ready."

"Yes, ma'am.  Test-flew it myself yesterday.  It's all set."  They
exchanged a few technical questions and answers and Sam moved on.

She replaced her glasses and turned to Jesse.

"What brings you out here?  You fly?"

"The usual airlines," he said.

He imagined her eyes twinkling behind the dark green lenses.

"I'm going up for an hour or so," she said.

"The wild blue is great for clearing out cobwebs.  Would you like to
come along?"

"Cobwebs, huh?  I don't think I've ever looked at them from the sky."

This time she graced him with a quick, amused grin.

"If you don't fly," she said as they walked out onto the broiling
tarmac, "why are you here?"

"Hargis has a renovation job he wants me to do for him."

"Ah."

But already Jesse could tell her mind was on other things.  He stood by
while she talked to the ground crew, then he followed her as she went
through her preflight inspection.  He certainly admired the view.  Her
worn jeans fitted perfectly.  She wasn't wearing any of the gold
bracelets or chain necklaces he'd seen her wear on other occasions, but
the two top buttons on her daffodil yellow shirt were open, exposing a
creamy smooth hint of generous cleavage.

It was a strange feeling to be standing in the glaring sun next to an
airplane that suddenly didn't look very big and not quite understand
what was going on.  He definitely wasn't used to following a woman's
lead, no matter how bewitching she was.

"What kind of plane did you fly in the air force?"

he asked as they climbed into the roasting fuselage and made their way
to the cockpit.

"I wasn't a pilot in the air force.  That's why I resigned."

She put no particular emphasis on the words, but they weren't casually
spoken, eith, and he could sense disappointment hidden in therm Had it
been her dream to fly jet fighters?  To break sound barriers?  Gender
barriers?

She slipped into the left seat.

"I couldn't pass the physical," she explained as she slid the small
side window open.

He raised an eyebrow.  She would certainly pass any physical he could
imagine.

Her eyes laughed at him, practically daring him to pursue the subject.
She motioned him into the right seat.  He bent toward her as he folded
himself into it.

She smelled like wildflowers on a spring morning.  He watched her feet
work the rudder pedals in and out.

"Height obviously wasn't a problem," he noted.

"Not with those long legs."

She gave no overt indication she'd heard him, but he could tell by a
delicate tilt of her head as she pulled the yoke back and forth,
testing it, that she had.  He brought his gaze up to her full
breasts.

"There doesn't seem to be a question of adequate upper body strength,
either," he added.

"You want to arm wrestle?"

That did get a reaction.  She stopped fiddling with knobs, turned
slowly toward him, her brows lowered.

"I may not be as strong as you wise guy, but I'll match reflexes with
you anytime."  She went back to her tasks.  "I spent a ton of quarters
playing arcade games to sharpen them."

Yes, he thought, I'd love to play games and match reflexes with you.
"So what's the problem?"

"I have a slight color acuity condition."

"You're color-blind?  Pretty rare for a woman, isn't t?".

"About one-tenth as likely as it is for a man."  She flipped switches
and tapped gauges.

"Mine's very sub-tie.  I can tell you that the bright colors in your
plaid shirt are red, green, tan, gray and brown.  But I can't tell You
if this dark stripe is titian or malachite."

He looked down at his chest, at her finger barely touching a line in
the cloth of his breast pocket.  The sensation was unnervingly erotic,
and for a moment he stopped breathing.  The bucket seat threatened to
become uncomfortably snug.

"Hell," he said with a chuckle as she withdrew her hand, "I'm not sure
I can tell you either."

"I passed all the other tests, then the flight surgeon's office flunked
me.  Their chromatic parameters are more stringent because of the
requirement to read military maps."

"But you can still fly?"

"Privately and commercially, I'm qualified.  But not for the air force.
I interviewed to fly with a commercial airline in Dallas.  I should
hear something in a few weeks."

Engine start-up effectively terminated their discussion.

She made sure he was properly buckled in, helped him don his headset
and showed him how to adjust the radio so he could follow the air
traffic chatter.  The instrument panel in front of him was
bewildering.

They taxied out to the runway, and he listened in as she checked with
the tower requesting clearance for takeoff.  He became uneasy only when
she revved up the engines, making the plane shudder as if with pent-up
energy.  Then she released the brake and they shot down the runway like
a stock car.  He wasn't actually aware of them lifting off.  One minute
he was watching airport buildings speed by, the next he was looking
down at them.

"Where are we going?"  he asked when they reached their altitude and
leveled off, and the resonance of the engines faded to a tolerable
drone.

"How about a tour of the city?"

"Sounds good."

He'd seen Coyote Springs from the air when he'd flown in on commercial
airlines from Dallas.  But those flights had never given him a chance
to really examine particular parts of the city.  Tori now did a
complete circle of the town, with both of them pointing out various
landmarks.

The pilot fascinated him as much as the flight itself.

Her movements as she checked switches and adjusted controls were crisp
and efficient.  No hesitation.  She was in her element here.  He could
tell she was acutely alert, yet her self-assurance seemed to dispel
tension and relax her.  This was a different Tori Carr from the
businesswoman on the ground.

He looked down at the corrugated sun-drenched land surrounding Coyote
Springs, at the checkerboard of modestly tall buildings.  Not a
metropolis, but it didn't want to be.  The townspeople and city fathers
made that abundantly clear every time they rejected bond issues and
referendums that would allow the community to grow.

As she banked into a gentle turn, he spied the new dam on the river.
Farther to the south, tucked into the horseshoe bend, was Santa
Marta.

"There's your house," she announced as she dipped to give him a better
view from his side of the plane.

"It stands out like a green thumb."

It was a compliment, Jesse knew, but it also pointed out another truth.
Santa Marta was a disaster area.  As bad as it looked from ground
level, it looked worse from up here.  Shabby was too mild a word.

"Where do you live?"  he asked.

She gave him a quick sidelong glance.

"I'll show you."

The G-force on her power turn reminded him of the exhilaration of
downhill skiing or a ride on the roller coaster at Six Flags.  He was
beginning to appreciate more fully the lure of flying.

The compass needle swung and they headed due north.  The green belt
where she lived with her father came into view.  Woodhill Terrace was
the most prestigious address in Coyote Springs, a country club enclave
built around a luxuriously maintained, championship-quality golf
course.

The Carr residence wasn't the biggest house in the sumptuous
development, but it wasn't the most modest, either.  Jesse nodded when
Tori pointed it out.

"Let's take a look at Coyote Mesa," Tori suggested as she pulled away
from the green swath of golf course and well-watered landscaping.

The mesa was on the northwest end of town, a high bluff of scant
vegetation and rocky outcroppings.  Tori circled it.

"Pretty desolate," she commented through the interphone.

"But it's got a great view.  You can see the whole city from up there.
At night it's really romantic."

"Romantic?"

"See that road?"  He pointed to a ribbon of white caliche hugging the
rim of the rugged plateau.

"Lovers' lane."

Had she ever been there?  he wondered.  Judging from the rapt
expression on her face, she hadn't.  What kind of teenager were you? he
wanted to ask.  Did you go steady with anyone?  Did you neck?  Or were
you the serious student type?

"This won't be an easy place to develop," she noted.

"Bringing in water and utilities is going to be expensive."

"As I recall, there were no water or utilities in Woodhill Terrace ten
years ago, either.  Now there's a golf course that probably drinks more
water in a month than Santa Marta does in a year.  These things can be
done if the right people want to do them badly enough.  He watched her
face, saw the wistful look of a minute earlier close up and the
practical professional woman take over.  The troth hurt.  He could
forgive himself for being the bearer of bad news, but did he have to
take satisfaction in dishing it out?  A moment ago his question had
been, "What kind of woman are you Tori Carr?"  Now he wondered if it
shouldn't be, "What kind of man are you Jesse Amorado?"

Tori gave a small sigh.

"We really need to sit down and discuss your offer.  I've come up with
an idea that might work, but I have to talk it over with my father and
Burton first Can I call you in a couple of days so we can get
together?"

He looked over at her.  The set chin said one thing;

the way she kept her eyes straight ahead, unwilling to meet his, said
something else.

"We can get together anytime you want, Tori."

The engines droned, white noise in the silence between them.

She turned south on the western edge of the city.

"where's your ranch?"

"On the river, a couple of miles off the intersection of Farm-to-Market
Road 1080 and Highway 24."

"You want to sec it?"

"That would be great"

She veered west.  The sun, high in the sky, turned the Coyote River
into a sparkling strand of molten silver.

It blinked and twinkled between the branches of the native nut trees
that lined its banks,

Jesse peered down, orienting himself in the vast openness of
cross-fenced rangeland.  When they flew over a single rail line, he
asked her to turn a little to the north.

"There!"

The house looked like a tiny cabin nestled among live oak trees.  Tori
scanned the sky for traffic, then descended to a thousand feet and
circled the small clearing.  He pointed to the two children who darted
Out from the shade of the house and the gray-haired woman trailing
behind them.  Tori rocked her wings.  They waved, though they couldn't
possibly recognize who was in the aircraft.

"Your niece and nephew?"  Tori asked, making another pass.

"And my mother."

"Nice family," she said.  Did he detect a note of envy?

A half hour later they landed in smooth silence.  Tori taxied the plane
back to its mooring by Hargis Aviation.

Ground heat rose in shimmering waves and smothered them as they climbed
out.  This time he insisted on helping her secure the aircraft---chocks
in place, ground wire clipped to its metal ring in the concrete pad.

Sam Hargis met ahem as they reentered the cool shade of the hangar.

"I was able to keep the repair cost within the ten thousand your
insurance allowed," he boasted, "although the air force will probably
pick up the tab."  He returned her maintenance log.

"You've taken good care of that baby," he said.

"You know it's due for a complete overhaul in another forty hours.  Run
you roughly twenty thousand.  Standard for a twin engine."

Jesse gave a low whistle and glanced at Ton's face.

Her lips were slightly compressed in displeasure, but she didn't seem
surprised at the dollar figure.

"Let me get back to you" she said.

"Give me a call when you're ready."

Hargis said goodbye and crossed the hangar floor to a crew of mechanics
working on an old biplane.  Jesse walked with Tori out to the parking
lot.  His pickup appeared derelict beside Ton's shiny sports car.

"Thanks for taking me along, Tori.  I didn't realize flying could be so
much fun."  He held her car door open for her.

"Do you do this very often?  Go out and fly around for an hour or
so?"

She climbed behind the wheel.

"Depends."

He had an urge to close the first and second buttons on her shirt--or
open the third and fourth.  He licked his lips.

"On what?"

"Having the time and the money."

He nodded.

"Yeah, a Corvette and a private plane.

I'd call them very expensive toys."  And totally out of his league.

WHEN Tori TUmmD to the office with her idea for a compromise with
Jesse, there was no one available to discuss it with.  Burton was
meeting with various city employees to coordinate permits and waivers
required for demolition and construction.  After that he had a dinner
engagement with contractor reps to make sure equipment and skilled
workmen would be available in the fight mix and numbers as soon as they
got the go-ahead.

Her father was at the bank all afternoon, doing his best, according to
Lydia, to convince the loan department that his cash-flow problem was
temporary and wouldn't affect the Riverbend project.

Tod would have talked with him later at home, but he was on the phone
until nearly midnight assuring nervous investors the project was still
on track--though deadlines were getting close.

Thursday morning wasn't any less hectic.  Tod herself was tied up,
reviewing photographs for brochures and news releases and conferring
with the radio and TV station directors and their advertising
departments.

The PR campaign she was designing was going to be the biggest media
blitz Coyote Springs had ever seen.

It was a new challenge for her, one she found herself thoroughly
enjoying.

Finally, around noon, she was able to get her father and Burton
together for a strategy session in the conference room.

"I hope you called this meeting to arm ounce you've convinced Amorado
to sell," Burton told her.

She held her chin up.

"We need to change our approach."

Burton stiffened in his seat.

"You must be kidding.

It's too late for changes."

"What do you have in mind?"  her father asked.  She took a deep
breath.

"Scale back.  It'll still be an ambitious project.  We just have to
refocus it."

Burton glowered.

Her father nodded.

"Go on."

"Instead of making Riverbend exclusively high income, broaden its base,
make it a family-centered community with a wider range of homes.  We'll
still build high-value residences, but we can also upgrade some of the
better ones that are already there.  Does Coyote Springs need another
full-size eighteen-hole championship golf course?  Probably not.  We've
already got three.  Make this one a niue-holer or an 'executive'
par-three.

Expand the clubhouse, make it more of a community center" Burton
slammed his palm down on the conference table.

"Is this how you've been spending your time?"  He leaned toward her
across the polished walnut table.

"Instead of building up Riverbend, you're tearing it down."  His voice
was low, mocking.

She laughed.

"You sound just like Jesse Amorado describing what we're doing to Santa
Marta."

Burton clenched his jaw tight.  He stared over at the map wall, then
glared at her.  Tori wasn't sure if he was incensed by her ideas or by
her laughing at him.

"There's no point in discussing this fur--" "Let's listen.," Winslow
interrupted quietly.

"She's got some good ideas."  He gave Tori a sympathetic smile.

"For the Land of Oz maybe," Burton exploded.  He jumped to his feet,
took a couple of steps and turned around to face Tori.

"We've got less than one month before the options we have for the sale
of the Santa Marta properties expire."

"There are provisions for renewal," she pointed out.

"After renegotiation.  If we have to sit down at the bargaining table
with those people again, you can kiss Riverbend goodbye.  First, it'll
take time.  Second, just on the basis of the publicity you've put out
so far, they'll demand bigger payoffs.  Damn it, Tod, we can't afford
the time and we haven't got the money."

She resented his implication that her doing the job he'd suggested in
the first place was going to be the cause of the project's failure.

"Are you suggesting now I shouldn't be promoting Riverbend?"

"No, of course not," he relented with a huff.

"Good, because I'd hate to think I wasted my time and your money on PR
that isn't necessary.  Don't try to make it sound as if it's my fault
you haven't been able to cut a deal, Burton.  You haven't exactly been
a public relations asset."

"Calm down, you two," Winslow broke in.

"Let's see if we can reach a compromise."

"We can't," Burton declared.

"Not if we're going to change course."

"Actually," Wiuslow told his daughter, "what you're proposing is what I
originally wanted to do in Santa Marta."

"You did?"  Tori asked breathlessly.

"You never told me--" "It's too late, Win," Burton interrupted.

"Our contractors aren't 'interested in building low- and middle-income
housing.  They're into high-value construction.

God knows, we're not going to make the profit margins our investors
were promised on cheaper housing.  In fact," he said ominously, "we may
not be able to recoup what we've already invested."

Wiuslow stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Then change contractors," Tori interjected.

"What?"  Burton looked outraged.

"Change contractors," she repeated, "Nothing's signed.  If the on
you're demiing with now can't meet your requirements, find others who
can."

Burton flung up his hands.

"Tim is ridiculous.  It's -taken me months to work out these deLils.
Now you wunt me to just scrap them."  He shifted his address to her
father.

"Win, we're too far down tis road to turn back."

"Dad, someone's going to have to bend."

Wiuslow Carr swiveled his head from his daughter to his partner and
back again, then ran a hand down his face in exasperation.

"Let me think about it," he said morosely.

AN HO LATER, Tori WAS returning a stack of contract folders to Lydia
for filing when the sheriff arrived.

She'd known Rudy Kraus since she was a little girl.

Her mother had introduced him as a "nice policeman," and Tori had never
had any reason to think of him any other way.  He'd come to her school
every fall and talked more like a big brother than a contemporary of
her father about protecting themselves, watching out for each other and
not using drugs or alcohol.  He'd spent many a social evening at their
house, as well.  A few years ago he was elected sheriff.  Tori hadn't
seen much of him since joining 'the air force, but she still considered
him a good family friend.

She greeted him enthusiastically now, feeling a bit guilty for not
having stopped by to say hello since she'd gotten back.  She was about
to invite him to the house for dinner, but the troubled expression on
his face stopped her.

"I best get this over with, Tori," he said uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call, I need to see your dad."

The realization that he was there as a lawman rather than a friend
brought her heart to a standstill, and for just a moment she felt
light-headed.  Lydia bolted to her boss's door.

"Hello, Rudy," Winslow said as he emerged from his office.  He offered
his hand.

"What can we do for you?"

The outstretched hand wcs ignored.

"I'm sorry about this," Rudy announced with businesslike efficiency.

"I have a warrant here for your arrest."

"What?"  Tori and Lydia cried simultaneously.

"Arrest?"  Tori demanded.

"For what?"

The sheriff's unhappy expression came es close to an apology, Tori
supposed, es his official duties would allow.  He faced his old friend.
"You're charged with bribing a city inspector."

Tori rushed to her father's side and pressed her hand in his.  His face
had gone pale.

"There must be some mistake."

"I hope so."  Rudy sounded like a man Who'd heard every excuse and
didn't believe any of them anymore.

"But that's not for me to decide.  I just carry out the orders of the
court."

"Call Dad's lawyer," Tori told Lydia, who already had the phone to her
ear and wcs furiously pressing buttons.

"This has to be a terrible mistake.  Who brought these charges?"

Kraus took no offense at her demanding tone.

"The charge is criminal, not civil," he told her.

"It wcs brought by the city attorney in the name of Coyote Springs."

Carr's lawyer, Nelson Spooner, arrived within minutes.  He wcs a trim
man in his early forties.  Tori had met him at the country club on her
last visit home but knew little about him except that he was an
aggressive, if not particularly competent, weekend tennis player.  At
the moment, however, he looked every bit the successful lawyer in his
slate gray three-piece suit, blue silk tie with monogrammed gold tie
tack and highly polished Italian loafers.  He confidently assured his
client that the matter would he straightened out in no time.

Winslow Carr was driven to the sheriff's office, where he was formally
charged and fingerprinted.  The experience was all the more humiliating
because everyone there pretended not to realize him.  People he'd known
on a first-name basis for years were suddenly addressing him gruffly as
Mr.  Carr----or just plain Carr.

He was reduced to the stares of another criminal being booked.  At
least Rudy didn't put him in one of the cells in back while they waited
for Spooner to arrange bail.  But there was no doubt Winslow Carr
wasn't going anywhere, not for a while, anyway.

The attorney didn't return for nearly two hours.  Tori stayed with her
father in the small room Rudy allowed them to use.

"I don't understand this," Wiuslow said.

"Burton assured me last evening he'd gotten the inspections called
off."

"Is it possible he didn't?"

Her father shook his head.

"He can be pretty crafty with clients and contractors, Tori.  But he's
never lied--not to me."  He threw up his hands.

"None of this makes any sense."

He sank into a chair against the wall, his shoulders slouched.  The
humiliation reflected in his eyes almost brought his daughter to tears,
When her mother died,

ll he'd been so strong for her.  Now it was her turn to be strong for
him.

"Our first priority is to get you out of here.  We'll sort the rest out
later."  She walked up to him and placed a hand firmly on his
shoulder.

"There's a logical explanation for all this.  As soon as we get to the
bottom of it, the sooner we can fight it--and we wilL"

He put a hand over hers and smiled.

"You bet we will."

He got up and ambled to the window.  How strange, Tori thought, that
there were no bars on it.  They could just climb out and walk away.
Except they couldn't.  In any case, her father wouldn't.  Wiuslow Carr
was down but he wasn't out.  He was a fighter, and he'd taught his
daughter to be a fighter, as well.

"I've certainly made quite a mess of all this.  I've broken roles now
and then, played a few tricks and taken advantage of some
opportunities.  Hell, I've even used the system when it was
convenient."

Tori listened, saying nothing, regretting that this man, whom she
revered, felt obligated to explain himself to her.

At last Spooner arrived with a paper for Winslow's release.  They drove
directly to the lawyer's office, where the three of them went over the
facts of the case and Spooner started working on a defense.

"Defense?"  Winslow shouted in outrage.

"Hell, I've been set up!"

"Of course you have," Spooner said with a patronizing calmness be
probably thought was reassuring but which in reality was infuriating.

"That's going to be our public and legal stance.  You're completely
innocent and you're going to fight these groundless charges.

We'll make it clear that certain parties opposed to your project are
conspiring against you.  That various other people, who shall remain
nameless, are the ones who are really guilty of the offenses they're
charging you with, and that they're striking out at you to cover up for
their own malfeasance."

Winslow fidgeted, clearly unhappy with Spooner's approach.  Tori wasn't
exactly thrilled with it, either.  It sounded as if her father's lawyer
didn't have much confidence in his client's innocence or in the
intelligence of juries.  The strategy smelled of lawyers' tricks, when
it seemed to Tod the truth would have served them better.

"Did you find out who's behind these charges?"  she asked.

"I tried to.  That's one reason I was gone so long.

No one's talking.  We might learn something during the discovery phase
of the process."

"Would the accuser have to identify himself?."

Spoouer shook his head.

"Not necessarily.  It could have been an anonymous tip."

Tod didn't think so.  She again considered the possibility that Burton
hadn't called off the dogs as her father had ordered.  But he'd said he
had and, like her Pather, she'd never known Burton to flat out lie.
Besides, what would he gain by having his partner publicly disgraced?
Then she remembered a comment Espy made---4hat she handled Jesse's
paperwork downtown.

Her sympathies and loyalties were definitely with Jesse, in spite of
any promises of assistance Tod might have offered.  Could Espy have
heard rumors about the impending inspection and passed them on to
Jesse?

Could he be behind this?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Even with the air conditioner set on max and the fan blowing full blast
in her face, Tori couldn't seem to cool off as she drove down South
Travis Street.  It was midafternoon.  The daytime routine of commercial
traffic was in full swing.

She'd called Lydia from Spooner's office and let her know Winslow had
been released.  Lydia insisted he come over to her house.  Her father
objected, but his protests were mild, and Tori sensed his gratitude
when she said his going over there would be a favor to her, put her
mind at ease that he was all right.  When they arrived, Tori politely
declined the invitation to come in.

Once again she had to wait for trucks and cars to Pass before she could
make a left turn to Amorado Construction.  Her fingers drummed the
steering wheel and she glared at the empty parking spaces in front of
the building.  Did he ever have any clients?  He had a reputation as a
successful builder, so why the hell didn't he ever seem to be doing any
business?

Her stomach roiled as she climbed out of her Corvette and strode to the
modest stucco building.  This time the clamor of the bell on the door
wasn't the pleasant tinkling it had been when she'd first entered the
reception room.  Nor did she wait for Jesse to come out and lead her
down the hallway to the office in the back.

Jesse swung around on his stool at the drafting table by the window at
the bell's sharp jangle when the outer door slammed.  He'd only gotten
to his feet by the time his visitor came storming into the room.

She stopped in front of him, her eyes blazing, her lips compressed.

"Tori," he said in surprise.

"What's the matter?"

It had been three days since he'd proposed conditions for selling to
Carr.  Tori had told him yesterday in the plane that she thought she'd
worked out a compromise but needed 'time to discuss it with her father
and Hazlitt.  Hah!

"Is Espy here?"  she demanded.

"No," he assured her quietly.

"She only works a couple of days a week."

Tori faced him squarely, her chin high, determined.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Monday, after our meeting.  Why?  What's going on?"  '

"My father was arrested."  Her lips twitched and she bit them for
control.

"They claim he bribed a city inspector."

Jesse seemed surprised, but he said only, "Did he?"

Her eyes flashed.

"No, he didn't."

"Then he has nothing to worry about.  What was he supposed to have
bribed this inspector to do?"

She lowered her chin and pivoted around, suddenly unwilling to face
him, to meet his eyes.  Maybe he doesn't know, she told herself.  Maybe
I've been wrong.

The thought pleased, her, even if it didn't solve the mystery of who
did.

"Tori?"  Jesse's tone took on the same hardness she'd heard when he'd
talked to her at the flooded house, an "I'm in charge here" quality.

"What was he bribing someone to do?"

She couldn't lie to him, no matter how much the truth hurt.

"I just told you he wasn't bribing anyone to do anything."  Her retort
was too loud.  Too strident.

She made an effort to moderate it.

"What he's charged with is bribing a city inspector to have your
flooded house inspected and condemned."

She saw the skin under his smooth olive complexion blanch, saw his
square jaw tense.  He lifted a hand, then dropped it and spread his
fingers as if he had to fight them from tightening into a fist.  For a
brief minute, she was sure he was going to strike out.  The sheer power
of his stance sent a shock wave through her.  What surprised her was
that she felt in no danger.  He might be in a rage, might crush
something in the room.  But he would never hurt her, not physically.

"Please let me explain," she said, her own temper spent.

His eyes were hard, unflinching, wounded as he faced her.

"So that's why you were in the barrio the other night looking for a
soft spot.  How lucky that you just happened to be in the right place
at the right time.  That's why you came to my house over the weekend.

to see just how vulnerable I might be."  He dropped into the chair
behind his desk.

"And I, like a damned fool, was taken in by your..."  He took a deep
breath and looked up at her.

"I actually thought you might have some sympathy for the people in
Santa Marta, when, in fact, you were just sizing me up for the kill."

"No," she protested weakly.  Did he know he'd just put a knife in her
heart?

"It wasn't like that--"

"You had this whole thing planned when I went to see you Monday," he
seethed.

"You let me make my demands and you sat there laughing at me, knowing
that whatever I did or said was of no avail.  You had already worked
out your dirty little deal under the counter."

He shook his head from side to side, his voice becoming sad and
scornful.

"The plane ride yesterday ... just a diversion to get me out of the way
while the inspectors..."

She stood there, stung by the harshness of his judgment, feeling he'd
pushed the blade in deeper, then twisted it.

"That's absolutely not true.  How could I have known you'd be at the
airport?  Your house wasn't inspected or condemned yesterday, was
it?"

"And you dare accuse me of double-crossing," he went on, ignoring her
question.

"Jesse, we're talking across each other."  She sat in the chair
opposite him, wishing there wasn't a desk between them, no Riverbend,
no barrio.

"So you're denying it all."  His words, spoken quietly, still rent the
air.

"Are you saying the charges are completely unfounded, that Carr
Enterprises never discussed getting the city to condemn my houses?"

"Not exactly," she said.

"Some of it's true."

He looked at her, obviously startled.

"Well, which is it going to be?  I'll wait while you make up your mind.
This ought to be good."

He slouched down in his seat, his large hands hanging loosely off the
arms of the chair, but she could see the calmness was false.  She
didn't doubt his anger.

"Have you got anything here to drink?"  she asked.

"A soda or something?"

The quick change of subject threw him for a moment.

"What?  Yeah.  In the fridge."  He nodded to the alcove where a few
days ago he had made them coffee.

He remained behind his desk, unconsciously flexing his long fingers.

Tod got up and found the small refrigerator under the counter, took out
two cans of cola and stepped back into the office.  Jesse was standing
in the middle of the room now, moving toward her.  He took one of the
cans, his hand briefly touching hers, a warm contact that might as well
have been a branding iron scorching her skin.

"Please excuse my poor hospitality."

She wasn't sure if he was sincere or still being sarcastic.

He popped the lid and took a deep draft, motioned her to her chair,
then resumed his seat behind the antique desk.

"You were telling me," he prompted.

She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest seemed constricted.

"Monday, after you made your demands, Burton took it upon himself to
talk to some of his friends downtown about doing a safety and welfare
inspection of your flooded house."  Jesse cast her a withering look,
but she refused to flinch.

"If your properties were condemned by the city, the bank would be
forced to call in your loans."

"You figured I wouldn't be able to pay them off."

She nodded.

"The bank would foreclose and you'd be able to buy my places."

She nodded again.

"Cheap."

This time she did look away.

He rose from his chair, paced the short width of the room, caught
himself, stopped and spun around to face her.

"I must congratulate you on a very slick maneuver, Miss CarL" So we're
back to formalities again, she thought.

"First, your father neglects his properties in Santa Marta until the
district's turned into a slum.  Then he gets what's left there
condemned because it is in a slum.  Clever, Miss Cam Very clever."

She started to object, but he cut her off.

"Of course you just happened to find one of my places flooded.

Good timing.  Or did you arrange that, too?"

"What?"  Her jaw dropped.

"Why not?  You're a member of Carr Enterprises."

She straightened on the edge of her chair, then fell back.

"You think I'd sneak into somebody's house and break a water pipe?
Destroy a family's home, their possessions?

You think I'd do that?"

He lowered his head and looked at her from under black eyebrows,
apparently amused by her indignant reaction.

"No," he said.

"You probably wouldn't do it personally-" "Neither would my father.
You've got this all wrong."

"You might get a smudge on your pretty designer clothes."  She
suppressed an urge to scream.

"Listen, Jesse, as soon as Burton told us what he was planning, Dad
ordered him to cancel the inspections, stop the condemnations."

"Uh-huh."

"Not only that, we were just discussing a compromise I proposed, an
idea very close to your dream of Santa Marta."  She didn't like the
pleading tone she was taking, but at least he was listening.

"Burton isn't too happy with it, because it means scaling back
Riv-erbend, but he'll come around, especially since Dad's probably
going to agree."

"How magnanimous of him," Jesse said, lounging back in his chair.

"So why was your father arrested for bribery?"

"You tell me."

That had him sitting upright again.

"Me?  What the hell are you suggesting?"

She put the soda can down firmly.

"I imagine you have contacts downtown, too, Mr.

Amorado.  You and Espy Mendez.  Isn't it just possible one of you found
out about the inspection and got desperate?"

"I thought you said it was called off."

"Oh, it was," she drawled sarcastically.

"But maybe you didn't get the word in time.  Or maybe---" she paused
dramatically "--you thought this would make a good preemptive
strike."

She could see by the thoughtful narrowing of his eyes that she had his
full attention now, but there was still doubt and distrust on his
face.

"As long as we're being honest," he said, his demeanor resuming its
earlier gruffness, "let me tell you a few things.  Yes, I do have
contacts downtown who try to keep me informed about what's going on.
No, I wasn't told about this raid against me.  No, I didn't squeal on
your father or have him arrested."

He crossed his hands in front of him and bent forward so they were at
eye level.

"But if we're going to be perfectly honest," he added in little more
than a whisper, "I have to tell you that if I had known what your
father was up to, I certainly would have had him arrested."

Tori fumed.  Why had he told her that?  He didn't have to.  God, how
she wished he hadn't.  It was as though, for a moment, he'd held out
friendship with one hand, then slapped her with the other.  The worst
part was that she believed him.

"You've got a blind spot when it comes to your father," he continued.

"Loyalty is fine.  Family is important.

But so is objectivity.  He's your father.  Love him in spite of his
faults.  But don't try to fool yourself into denying them."

Spoken harshly, the words could have been accusatory, hurtful.  But he
offered them with sympathy and forgiveness.

"Do you know who Henry Martin is?"  he asked.

The question took her by surprise.

"Yes, the city councilman for District Seven, Santa Marta.  Why?"

Jesse nodded.

"He was Enrique Martinez until about twenty years ago, when he
developed political ambitions.

He's been on the council for fifteen years now, longer than anyone
else.  That's given him power, lots of power, and he knows how to use
it."

Tori found herself staring at Jesse's hands, remembering their
roughness and warmth.  They were perfectly still now, the violent
tension gone from them.

And the warmth?

"Martinez, or Martin," he went on conversationally, "controls the
permits department in city hall, not technically or by ordinance, but
by virtue of his longevity.

He's also their champion on the city council.  If the department needs
a new computer, more staff, extra space, raises---talk to Henry.  He'll
get it.

"As a result," he continued, "some of the employ-ecs are willing to
help him out----conveniently lose applications for a week, maybe
permanently, insist on every I being dotted, every t crossed, just
generally be obstinate bureaucrats.  Mayors and city managers come and
go, but Martin is always there.  You want to build a house, you get a
permit.  You want to add a garage, get another permit.  In the past
couple of years the list of things that need permits has grown
astronomically.

New roof?.  Permit.  New siding?  Permit.  Toolshed?  Permit. Sprinkler
system?  Permit.  And on and on."

"What's this got to do with my father?"

"Martin is corrupt."

Tori curbed an impulse to laugh.

"So are a lot of politicians.  That's not exactly earth-shattering
news."

"Corruption's a two-way street," he said.

"There wouldn't be a bribee without a briber."

"Jesse, if you're saying my father's been paying bribes to Martin,
you're wrong.  My father wouldn't---" "He's doing more than that."

Suddenly she was frightened.  The confidence with which he spoke, the
searching look he gave her twisted like barbed wire inside her.

"What do you mean?"

"Martin isn't just taking bribes to give people permits, Tori.  He's
taking them not to give permits."

It took a moment for the implications to sink in.

"Are you suggesting my father has been paying Martin to deny permits to
the people in Santa Matra?"

He- nodded.

"Permits to improve, add on to or even maintain their homes."

Tori was speechless.

"It's a neat little setup," he explained.

"A home owner wants to do something to his house, but either he can't
get a permit or he has to pay an exorbitant bribe he can't afford.  So
what happens?  After a while your father's little bulldog comes along
and suggests to the owner that since he's having such a hard time
maintaining the place, he ought to sell it to Carr Enterprises and rent
it back.  That way he doesn't have to worry about those pesky little
permits and repairs."

"Have you got any proof of this?"

"That']] stand up in court?  No.  If I did, your father would have been
behind bars a long time ago, I assure you.  But isn't it strange that
the properties he owns in other parts of town get their permits without
delays and get decent maintenance?"

"You're saying my father is involved in a conspiracy with Martin to
dominate the barrio?"

Jesse nodded.

"Then he came up with the Riverbend project, which will destroy it."

Tori used THE SPARE KEY Lydia had given her to let herself into the
office the next morning.  She made coffee and put the half-dozen Danish
pastries she'd bought at Kramer's on the credenza they used for a
coffee bar.

The stimulating aroma filled the room, reminding her of the coffee
Jesse had offered her on their first meeting.

That simple gesture had been a dare.  In fact, everything about him
seemed to be a challenge.

His obstinacy was threatening the Riverbend project and the continued
success of Carr Enterprises.  Now he was contesting the image she had
of her father, threat-erring to destroy the esteem she'd always had for
him.

She'd spent a restless night, bouncing from uncertainty to fantasy,
forced to reassess her father's integrity and motives in Santa Matra,
haunted by images of Jesse condemning him as a slumlord, a bigot and a
corrupt conspirator.  She imagined Jesse, eyes cold, knuckles white,
standing over the grave of his brother, promising to keep faith with
their dream.  In the background she saw the barrio, a decayed ruin.

"My, aren't you the early bird?"  Lydia said as she stepped through the
front door.

"Good morning," Tori replied.

"Is Dad with you?"

Her father hadn't come home last night.

"I ordered him to get some rest, told him not to come in before
noon."

Tori smiled.  Lydia's carefully applied smoke gray mascara only
partially succeeded in distracting attention from the lines of worry
and fatigue around her pale blue eyes.

"Of course you expect him to follow orders."

"Hell, no."  Lydia chuckled.

"But if he doesn't come in till ten, I've gained a small victory."  She
deposited her purse in the top left desk drawer and nervously
straightened her lilac skirt.

"He's awfully tired, you know.  I'm worried about him."

"Well," Tori suggested, "maybe when this is all over we can talk him
into taking you on a nice long Cabbean cruise."

Lydia perked up for a moment.

"Sounds like a wonderful idea.  But it's going to be several more
months before this project settles down enough for him to take time
off.  I'm not really sure he should wait that long."

Tod realized this wasn't just idle talk about the pressure of the job.
She'd experienced days of burnout in the air force, days when she
didn't think she could possibly survive another briefing or put up with
the vanity and turf battles that seemed to preoccupy ambitious senior
officers.  Usually it took only a good night's sleep and breakfast with
a friend to clear away the shadows of exasperation and exhaustion.  But
she didn't have to remind herself that her father was no longer
twenty-eight years old and hadn't been for a very long time.  She'd
seen the fatigue tugging at the corners of his mouth when he thought he
was alone.

"That bad?"

"He's running in overdrive, Tori.  This past year has been pure hell.
He's invested so heavily that he has the kind of cash-flow problems we
haven't experienced in years."

"Because of Riverbend?"

"It's taken so much longer than he planned.  The delays are eating into
his capital reserves."

Maybe Jesse would get his revenge after all.

"It's really got your father worried.  He isn't sleeping well, and he's
not eating right.  YOu've probably noticed I'm putting out no-fat
cookies instead of the doughnuts we used to have, and fruit in the
afternoon."

Lydia turned on her computer terminal, apparently lost in thought as
she watched it boot up.  Tori brought her a cup of coffee, then opened
the bag of Danish.

"I

guess you don't want these then."

"Mmm, naughty, naughty."  Lydia chuckled and took a small tray from one
drawer, a paper doily from another and arranged the sweet rolls on
them.

"I guess we'll just have to eat them all before your father gets
here."

There was a bond in the smile the two women exchanged.

Tod was glad her father had found an ally, an intimate in this woman.

"He used to go golfing every weekend with friends," Lydia went on after
taking a generous bite of Danish and wiping her mouth with a paper
napkin, "but he never has time anymore."

Tori took a tentative sip of hot coffee and sat on the chair next to
her desk.

"If I'm going to be part of this outfit, even if it's only temporary or
part-time, you're going to have to let me know what's going on.  Every
time I try to get somewhere with Jesse, I find another piece of the
puzzle I didn't even know existed."

"I should have told you what was going on from the beginning," a
familiar voice said behind her.  If she hadn't already put down her
coffee cup, it would have spilled.  She hadn't heard the door open,
hadn't heard her father's quiet tread into the room.

"Hmm, Kramer's Danish.  Something I can really sink my sweet tooth
into."  He grinned.

"I'm glad I skipped breakfast."

Lydia frowned as he put one of the gooey pastries on a napkin.

He was wearing a suit and tie even though the temperature outside was
already on the rise and would probably break the century mark by late
afternoon.  But the business apparel didn't disguise the weariness of
his step, the creases in his cheeks or the worry in his piercing blue
eyes.  The threads of silver in his brown hair seemed to have
multiplied overnight.

"Grab your coffees, ladies, and come on into the office.  It's time we
had a long talk."

He stood back while they gathered up their cups and preceded him into
his richly appointed office with its thick oriental carpet, shiny brass
lamps and romantic oil paintings.

As soon as they were seated, Tod began, "Dad, I went to see Jesse
yesterday.  I thought he might have been behind your arrest."

"What was his reaction?"  he asked after a cautious sip of steaming
coffee.

She bit her lip, remembering the look of bewilderment on Jesse's face,
followed by outrage when he realized what she was talking about.

"He made some pretty wild accusations of his own.

He said you've been intentionally destroying Santa Marta.  That you've
not only refused to maintain your own properties but have been paying
Martin to deny permits to other people to keep them from maintaining
theirs."

Winslow's face grew bright red.  He slammed down his fist on his
desk.

"That's absolutely not true," he exploded.

"Calm down, Win," Lydia urged him softly, and shot a warning glance at
Tori.

Win took a deep breath.

"Look, I take full responsibility for what this business does.  But
intentionally run down a whole section of town where I have major
investments?  There's no profit in that.  I'm not claiming I'm innocent
of what's happened in the barrio."  He looked blindly across the room,
then concentrated on his daughter.

"But your friend Jesse has it backward."

Winslow started to take another bite of his Danish, lost interest and
put it down on his desk.

"I guess in hindsight I should have seen this coming.  Burton never
wanted me to buy houses in the barrio to begin with.

Said they were all losers."

Tori wondered if he was referring to the buildings or the people.

"Then we came up with the Riverbend project," Winslow said.

"Well, that put things in a completely different light.  There was no
reason to do anything more than minimum maintenance.  But, damn it, I
never intended for the area to turn into a slum, and I certainly didn't
interfere with other people taking care of their homes."

He took a deep swallow of coffee.

"I should never have allowed things to get as bad as they are."

"Jesse also told me you've been paying off Martin," she said.

"Bribing him."

Winslow leaned back in his chair.  Reluctantly, he said, "Well, let's
just say greasing his palm."

God, what next?  This wasn't the response she'd expected.

She'd had visions of absolute, categorical denial, anger that she would
consider him capable of such unethical behavior.  Perhaps even a
suggestion that Burton had gone too far and acted unilaterally.

"But yesterday ... you denied.,."

"I didn't lie to you or the police," he countered immediately.

"The charges yesterday were for trying to have Amorado's property
condemned.  You heard me tell Burton to call it off.  I talked to him
late yesterday and be insisted he had.  He was miffed that I'd think
differently.  Or that you would."

She didn't want to deal with the subject of Bur Tori ego at the
moment.

"But now you're telling me you've been bribing Martin all along?"  she
questioned, still not wanting to believe she'd heard right.

"Yes."

The response was so straightforward it rattled her even more.  Was
bribing public officials such an ordinary business practice?

She watched her father closely.  His eyes were sharp, defiant, but the
hand holding the coffee cup was shaking.

He lowered his gaze.  She felt his shame and wanted to weep.

She folded her arms across her stomach and the hollow feeling inside
her.  It seemed as if the world were tumbling down around her.  Maybe
Burton was right.

Maybe she didn't know enough about the real business world.  But she
knew her father.  Lydia had told her about the times he lowered his
commission, or even waived it altogether, to help people in need.
Sometimes he was insensitive, but she never knew him to be
intentionally cruel or mean-spirited.  There had to be more.

"I'm sure it's not that simple, Dad," she said.

"How about filling in the details?"

Winslow rewarded her with a wan smile, obviously pleased she wasn't
taken in by simplistic answers.

"It started innocently enough years ago," he began.

"Martin was in a position to help us and it seemed reasonable to
support him."

"Just good politics," Tod observed.

Her father nodded and went on.

"He would send us regular accounts of how many and what kinds of
permits we were submitting and getting approved.  We sent regular
contributions to his reelection fund.  It wasn't until last year that I
realized the extent to which it had gone."

"That's when your father stopped making the pay-merits," Lydia pointed
out.  She had been quietly observing the exchange between father and
daughter.  Tori had not been unaware of her presence.  She just wished
the older woman had been more forthcoming from the beginning.

"You stopped?"  she asked.

"Of course I stopped.  I'm willing to scratch other people's backs,
Tori.  That's good business.  But I stop short at wholesale bribery."

CHAPTER NINE

"So How DID THIS 'wholesale bribery' get started' Tori asked.

Winslow exhaled through his nose and pursed I lips in disgUst.  It was
Lydia who answered the question.

"Over the past couple of years Martin's becor pretty bold.  When he
sent the lists of permits and a pr ovals he started adding notes
suggesting amounts contribute to his fund.  The implication was cic
enough.  Pay up or you won't get your permits proved."

"But you're still getting permits approved, are:

you?  Jesse says your ... our ... properties in other pa of the city
are well maintained."

"Martin controls Santa Marta but not the other districts.  Hell, if he
tried to turn down permits in the areas, their councilmen would be all
over him."

A redeeming thought struck her.  If Martin had I fused Carr Enterprises
the necessary permits to ma tain their properties in the barrio because
they stopped paying graft, it wasn't her father's fault that the houses
had fallen into such disrepair.

"That means," Tod said aloud, "that the de teri ration in Santa Matra
isn't because you wouldn't ma' tain the houses there, but because you
couldn't."

This put a completely different complexion on the whole situation.  Her
father hadn't intentionally neglected the barrio; he'd been denied the
ability to improve it because he refused to be dishonest.  She wondered
how many people in town knew that.  Jesse obviously didn't.

But Winslow Carr shook his head in disagreement.

"Ordinary repairs don't need permits."

He rose heavily from his chair and turned to face the window behind
him.  His speech, slow, abject, bounced off the plate glass.

"Amorado's right.  When we started the Riverbend project, we lowered
our standards for Santa Marta properties.  We might repair a roof,
which doesn't require a permit, but not replace it, which does.  If a
toolshed got too shaky, we simply tore it down rather than build a new
one.  We certainly didn't build new carports or garages the way we did
in other parts of town to increase the properties' marketability,
either for rent or resale."

He turned to face his daughter again.

"That's why I could afford to just stop paying the graft," he
concluded.

"Not because I'm so self-righteous."

Ton's heart sank.

"Look, I never set out to destroy the barrio," Win-slow pleaded.

"I'm sorry about what's happened there.  I don't know how things got so
out of control.  But you've got to understand that the real problem in
Santa Marta has been Martin's willingness to hold his own people
hostage.  He wasn't counting on the Riverbend project taking off the
way it did."

"Why didn't either of you tell me about this?"

"Lydia wanted to, but I asked her not to.  I hoped I could straighten
things out so you would never have to know.  "I should have told you
anyway," Lydia protested.

She looked down at her hands and twirled the rings on her fingers.

Winslow concentrated for a moment on the coffee cup on his desk.  Then,
steeling himself, he looked Tori in the eye.

"It's not easy telling your daughter you're not the paragon of virtue
she likes to believe you are."

Tori saw something in her father's countenance at that moment, an
insight that explained the lukewarm reception he'd given her, his
ambivalence about her coming home.  He didn't want her to learn his
secrets, his shame.

It had been almost ten years since she'd lived here.

She'd visited over holidays and sometimes for longer stays during the
summers when she was attending the academy.  But the physical
separation from her father and their completely different life-styles
and interests had driven them apart psychologically and emotionally,
broken the special bond that had only begun to develop after her mother
died.  In its place she'd created an icon of her father, seen him as a
model of virtue and moral rectitude, an ideal probably no one could
achieve.  But he'd been wise enough to understand the position she'd
put him in and, consciously or not, had tried to nudge her away before
she discovered the truth about him.

"I know you did the best you could," she offered, trying to be upbeat,
forgiving.

"No one can ask more than that."

"Nice thought," her father said with a faint smile.

"The fact is, I failed the people in the barrio because I avoided going
there whenever possible.  Too many memories and associations.  You'd
think after all these years--' '

Ton's heart melted.

"I understand, Dad.  Believe me, I understand."

He waved the comment away.

"I've let you down, Tori.  Just like I did after your mother was
killed."

"You didn't," she objected.

"Let me finish.  I should have said this years ago."

She started to get up and go to him, but Lydia put her hand on her
wrist.  Tori looked over at her, ready to protest.  But the gentle
woman's eyes counseled the same compassion Tod had seen at the Mesquite
Grill.

Tori rested back in the chair and waited for her father's catharsis.

"After your mother died," Winslow said in a drone, "I knew I wasn't
taking care of you the way I should."

He still faced the window, though Tori doubted he saw anything but his
own reflection in the glass.

"I worked a crazy schedule, between sixteen and eighteen hours a day,
to get the new business started.  It was a rough market then.  A lot of
Realtors were going under.  I was practically broke.  Your mother's
income as a lawyer paid most of the bills."

"Dad--" "I was determined to become successful so I could give you the
things your mother and I had planned for you.  So yOU'd he proud of
me."

"I've always been proud of you Dad," She could tell by the set of his
shoulders and the pause before he went on that he'd heard her.  How
long had she wanted to say just those words?  How long had he wanted to
hear them?  She ached for him, for affection left unspoken too long.

"The irony," he went on, his monotone remote and throaty, "is that by
the time I was able to give you the material things I thought you
deserved, you'd gone off and made a life of your own and didn't need
me.  In a crazy way, it made the sacrifices all worth it."

Tori bit her lip to stanch the flow of tears.  She couldn't swallow
past the burning in her throat.

Her father finally turned to face her.

"I can't tell you what it's been like seeing you grow and blossom,
knowing I had nothing to do with it."

"You had everything to do with it," Tori objected quietly.  Though she
ached to console him, some instinct told her he wasn't ready yet.  She
forced herself to brighten.

"Are you forgetting the summers and holidays we spent together?  I've
always been able to count on you to listen, Dad, even when I called you
from the academy at two o'clock in the morning to complain about some
chauvinist class man prank or a training officer's stupid demands."
Tori tilted her head and smiled.

"You reminded me I was strong enough to handle whatever they cared to
dish out, that I could grow from the experience and be a better person.
You always listened.  You always encouraged."

"I didn't tell you how much I love you."

"You're wrong there, too," she argued mildly, not sure she could trust
herself to get the words out.

"You told me every time we were together, when you sent me silly little
gifts or a card for no reason."

The room grew quiet.  Even outside noises seemed reluctant to intrude.
The stillness was no longer charged with tension, only the peace that
comes with honesty.  But Tori knew there was something more she had to
do.  She hesitated.  It meant giving up her dream of flying for a while
longer, but what was more important than family?

"You made a proposal the other day," she said, breaking the silence.

"To make me a partner.  Is the offer still open?"

He looked shocked, but amazement quickly changed to disbelieving
hope.

"After what I just told you you want to---" She stood up and circled
the end of the desk.  He rose to his feet and faced her, his back
hunched in uncertainty, his eyes gleaming.  Gently she placed a hand on
his shoulder and drew him toward her.

"I love you Dad."

Their embrace was long and heartfelt, one whose intensity had been held
back for too many years.

ToRI AND LYDIA BROKE for lunch late that afternoon.

Winslow declined the invitation, insisting he had to catch up on phone
calls.  Tori suspected he needed the time alone to recover from the
draining emotions of the morning.  He assured them he wouldn't go
hungry.  After all, there was the fruit basket Lydia was always urging
on him.

Over peppered ham and baby Swiss cheese croissants at the Cowboy Cafe,
Lydia and Tori talked business.

Lydia promised to push Nelson Spooner on the legal paperwork to
formally make Tori a partner in Carr Enterprises.

"With your father's proxy," Lydia commented, "you can take a lot of the
workload off his shoulders.  I know you still want to fly, honey, and
after we get over this Riverbend hurdle, you'll be able to.  But right
now your father needs you.  I'm so glad you're doing this.  It means so
much to him."

Tori smiled and secretly wished she felt as good about this as everyone
else seemed to.

They were pulling into the parking lot at Carr Enterprises when she
spotted a pickup truck and the man slouched against its front fender.

Lydia grinned.

"It looks like your dueling partner is back.  I must say, I like the
looks of the competition."

Jesse's jeans, though nearly pressed, still molded his lithe body.  His
boots, scuffed and battered, were crossed at the ankles.  A blue
chambray shirt stretched across his thick chest and broad shoulders.

The two ladies got out of the sports car.

"Good afternoon, Ms.  Anderson," Jesse said cordially, and tipped the
perfectly shaped straw hat on his head.

"Mr.  Amorado."  Lydia nodded and excused herself.

Jesse crossed his arms and smiled as she retreated into the building.

"Ms.  Carr," he said, tipping the brim of his hat up slightly with a
forefinger.

"Nice to see you again.," He was, oh, so cool, but she had no doubt he
had an agenda.  Her office was no more in his neighborhood than the
barrio had been in Ton's on the evening of the flood.

"Good afternoon, Mr.  Amorado.  Is there something I can do for you?"
She made motions with the keys in her hand to lock the car, but her
fingers for some reason turned to butter.  The key ring fell to the
ground.

He moved to her side with the speed and agility of a cat, bent over,
picked up the fallen keys and dangled them within a few inches of
her.

"Do you think we can call a truce?"  he asked.

She reached for the ring, paused and caught the faintest hint of a
woodsy aroma.

"We can try," she conceded.  She relieved him of the keys, but not so
fast that their fingers didn't touch.

"Can I make a suggestion?"  Jesse ventured.

"What?"  Her single-word response wasn't hostile, just curious.

"I have to go out to the ranch to take care of some chores.  It's not
too far.  There are rolling hills and cattle.

A few chickens and goats.  It's peaceful.  City problems take on
completely different dimensions out there.

It's a good place to clear the cobwebs," he said with a smile.

"Why don't you follow me.  You can meet my family and we can talk."

Meet his family?  Was that his way of assuring her they wouldn't be
alone?  She had already been alone with him in his office and his
house.  She remembered the way he smoothed back the lock of hair that
fell across his face when he was showing her his model of a rejuvenated
Santa Matra, the happy pride when he talked about his parents.  And the
way he stood in the doorway, half blocking her entry into the tiny room
so that she had to brush past him to enter.  And the electricity
created when his skin rubbed against hers.

Yes, she muttered silently, I'd like to meet your family.  But I
wouldn't mind being alone with you either.

"Let me tell Lydia where I'm going," she said.

She followed Jesse's ten-year-old pickup, laden with two-by-fours and
other building materials, out Highway 24 west of town.  He took the
twenty-minute drive conservatively, glancing at her periodically in his
rear-view mirror.  They would make brief eye contact before each of
them had to concentrate on the road ahead again.

About ten miles outside city limits Jesse turned off the highway onto a
narrow road, blacktopped once, mostly caliche now.  Wild mesquite, its
tiny willow like leaves swaying gently in the breeze, and thick
clusters of prickly pear cactus were the dominant forms of vegetation.
Thistles dotted the uneven ground, as well, their delicate white
blossoms totally out of character with their untouchable thorny
stems.

He drove another mile or so and stopped.  Tori waited while he crossed
the dusty road on foot and opened a gate on the left.  She noticed it
was latched, but not locked or chained.  He pulled his truck far enough
forward for her to follow him inside the fence line, then walked back
to her.

"I have to get the gate," he explained as he leaned down to her open
car window.

"When you leave, please make sure it's closed behind you.  We don't
have much livestock here, but what we do have likes to wander."

"Of course."  She smiled and watched in her rear-view mirror as he
sauntered to the gate.

The house wasn't far, but small hills and boulders and stands of
Chinese elm and hackberry trees hid it from the road.  She remembered
the building from the air.  It wasn't big or fancy, no rustic
Ponderosa, and certainly no mansion.  Just a simple, single-story,
tin-roofed cabin nestled in the soothing coolness of sprawling live oak
trees, its vertical siding weathered to a silvery gray.

Two children were playing in the area near the house.  They looked up
at the sound of the vehicles.

Tori recognized them at once from the pictures in Jesse's office.

"iTto.t iTto Jcs esta aqui.  t" they shouted in unison.

Tori smiled to herself.  Jesse was the usual translation for Jesus, a
name never used in English, though common in Spanish.

Jesse jumped out of the truck.

"Teresita!"  he shouted joyfully, gathering up the little girl of
perhaps five in his arms and smothering her with loud kisses.

Meanwhile the boy had run to the shiny red Corvette and stopped.  He
stood staring at it in awe and was about to touch it when a woman's
command stopped him.

"Miguelito," she called in Spanish, "keep your hands off the lady's
car."

The boy, about seven, pulled back his fingers, gave a longing glance at
the vehicle and moved to Jesse's side.  His expression as he looked up
at his sister suggested he thought himself too old to be cuddled and
kissed.  But, Tori noticed with a smile, he seemed perfectly willing to
hold the wide, callused hand of his big uncle.

"Lupe," Jesse called out to the woman on the porch as Tori climbed out
of her vehicle and walked up beside him.

"This is Tod Carr.  This is my sister-in-law, Guadelupe Hernandez Viuda
de Amomdo."

"Buenos dias," the woman said with a reserved smile.  Since Jesse had
addressed her in English, Tori wondered if Lupe's speaking Spanish now
was intended to put distance between them.

"Mucho gusto," Tod replied.  She caught the little grin of amusement on
Jesse's face at her using the polite Spanish phrase that many Anglos in
the Southwest knew.

Tori extended her hand.  Lupe took it.  She was dressed in frayed jeans
and a much-washed man's coarse white cotton shirt.  It emphasized the
youthful freshness of her tan complexion.  Tori guessed she was in
her-mid-twenties, but there was a melancholy expression in her large
brown eyes that made her look older, or perhaps ageless.

Viuda de Amorado, Tori thought as she accepted the other woman's hand.
Widow of Amorado.  Miguel's widow.

An older woman in a dark blue Mexican peasant dress udmmed with vividly
colored embroidery stepped out the back door.  As she approached she
put a hand up to the black hair that was salted with gray and gathered
in a soft bun.

"Hello, Victoria," Elena Amorado said pleasantly.

A shiver careened down Ton's spine, followed by a wave of nostalgia, a
poignant sensation of affection and caring and familia.  So long ago,
yet barely yesterday.

Victoria.  Her mother was the only one who ever called her by her full
name.  Tod was the pet name her father had given her.

"You probably don't remember me," Elena said in a pronounced but clear
Spanish accent.

"I used to visit Mrs.  Gutierrez, your sitter.  And I knew your dear
mother.  She was a lovely woman."

"Tfa Elena.  The lady from the bakery," she replied in Spanish, trying
hard to swallow the lump growing in her throat and to shed the pain
that suddenly gripped her heart.

"I'm very happy to see you again."

Elena opened her arms and Tori impulsively fell into her warm embrace.
Nearly twenty years had changed them both.  Tori didn't see the
joviality she remembered in the woman's face, but the glow of affection
was still in her dark eyes, Jesse's eyes.

"Come sit down and have something cold to drink," Elena said.  Tori
smiled at the puzzlement on Jesse's face and the shocked gleam that
said, You speak Span-ism "Not for me yet."  He bent and kissed his
mother affectionately on the cheek.

"I've got to unload this stuff first."

"I can help," the boy insisted, looking up at his uncle eagerly and
pulling on his brawny ann.

Jesse ruffled Miguelito's dark hair and winked at Teresita.

"Let's go, muchachos."

The three of them trudged off together, the children stretching out
their shorter steps in a vain attempt to match their big uncle's long
stride.

Lupe went over to a gallon jug of tea steeping in the hot sun and
carried it into the house.  Jesse's mother smiled fondly at the
retreating parade and ushered Tori to a wooden bench at a picnic table
under the biggest of the sprawling oaks.

"You have become una senorita muy linda," Elena said quietly.

Tori had been called beautiful before, but she was unaccountably
touched by the sincerity of this woman's compliment.

"Much as gracias," she replied.

"I've seen your picture in the newspapers.  Did you like it in the
army?"

"I was in the air force," she said, amused that after fifty years there
were still people who didn't realize the army and air force were
separate, "Yes, I enjoyed it very much."

"My late husband was in the army," Elena went on, apparently still
unaware of the distinction.

"That was during the war, of course.  Are you home to stay now?"

"I hope so.  I'm trying to get a job here flying for one of the
airlines."

She watched Jesse unload the mack and pile the lumber against the side
of the garage.  He looked so comfortable in this place, so at ease. She
tried to picture him in some of the places she'd been---sitting at a
sidewalk cafe in Paris eating bifteck au poivre.  Or using chopsticks
on Indonesian riijsttafel in Amsterdam.

Spreading Gorgonzola on fresh fruit in a trattoria in Florence.  Or
sampling tap as at a bodega in Madrid.

Jesse's eyes made a quick, flashing contact and she felt as if a
spotlight had been beamed at her.  She smiled back and was rewarded
with a wink.  He resumed his work, but her smile remained, this time
not for him but for herself.

Yes, she decided, she could see him very easily in those exotic places.
But he would definitely not be just another face in the crowd.

Tori and Elena sat side by side at the picnic table watching the
children as they scampered happily around Tfo Jcs.  Miguelito's little
hand hung on the trailing edge of a two-by-four "helping" Jesse carry
it, while Teresita marched determinedly in front.  She would then turn,
her small arms widespread, and show them where to deposit it.

Lupe came out of the house carrying a wicker tray with a pitcher of sun
tea, a dish of lime wedges, a large sugar bowl and four oversize blue
plastic glasses filled with ice.  After carefully negotiating the three
porch steps, she set the tray on the picnic table and poured a glass,
handing it to her mother-in-law.  Elena passed it to Tori, then
accepted another one for herself.  Lupe was pouring a third glass just
as Jesse returned.

He reached out and took it from her hands.

"Thanks," he grunted, and swallowed half of the cold liquid in one
gulp, then ran the frosty glass across his forehead.  The two children
bounced up and down on either side of him, eagerly begging him to play
ball.

Joy, pure and sweet, welled up in Tori at the smile he gave them.

"Come up to the house," Lupe told them in Spanish, "and I'll give you
some lemonade."

Reluctantly, the youngsters left their uncle, the little girl's
backward glance and outstretched hand imploring him not to leave.  For
them, at this moment, Tod mused, life was good.  They had lost one of
their parents, but not their home, not the love of their family.

Jesse filled the role of father figure with such natural ease, she
wondered if he yearned for kids of his own.

He pulled a red bandanna from his hip pocket, sat on the other end of
the bench and wiped his sweaty brow.

The children returned, carrying small red plastic glasses with both
hands.  Lupe hovered behind them, offering encouragement.

The little girl was a delight, even more captivating than in her
picture.  Round face, sparkling dark eyes, a perfect cupid's-bow mouth,
long shiny black hair and a translucent olive complexion.  One day she
would be a beautiful woman.

When the drinks were safely on the table, Jesse reached over and pulled
the girl to his chest.

"Have you said hello to Senorita Carr?"  he asked.

Teresita looked doubtfully at him and shook her head shyly.

"Go on then, say hello," he prompted gently.

"Hello," came the soft greeting.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Teresita," Tod said in Spanish.

The little girl giggled.  Still clinging to her uncle, she said more
confidently, "Buenos'd as, seorita."

Tod was also rewarded by the sight of Jesse grinning ear to ear as he
placed a large hand on the boy's shoulder and coaxed him forward.

"And this is her big brother, Miguelito."  Jesse leaned over and
stage-whispered in the boy's ear, "As the man of the house, you should
welcome our guest."

The boy stood stock-still and said nothing.

Tori offered her hand.

"Hello, Miguelito."

Disconcerted at first by the unfamiliar gesture, the boy's bravery
quickly reclaimed itself.  He took her hand and pumped it up and down
vigorously and said a little too loudly, "Buenos'd as, sego rita Mi
casa es su casa.  My house is your house."

"Much as gracias, set or I'm very glad to be here," Tori answered,
touched by the boy's proud stance and courtesy.  Just like his uncle,
she thought.

Miguelito waved overhead and motioned to the sky.

"Are you the lady who flies the plane?"

"Yes, I am."

Dropping his arm, he looked at her.

"Someday I'm going to fly a plane," he said, chest thrust out.

"A big plane."

Ton's heart swelled.

"I hope you do."

"We're going to Sea World," Teresita announced excitedly.

"Sea World, huh?"  The twinkle in Jesse's eyes matched the child's.

"And Fiesta Texas," Miguelito added just as eagerly.

"We're going to be there a whole week.

Grandma is taking us."

"I got some discount tickets," Elena explained to her son.

"We'll stay with my sister Anita," Lupe informed him.

"And we're going to see Shamu," Teresita bubbled to Tori.

"He's a big whale!"

"Oh, my!"  Tori exclaimed, charmed by the vivacious child.

"I've never seen a whale before.  Have you?"

"This will be my first time," the little girl said, turning very
serious.

Tod could hardly resist the temptation to reach out and hug the
child.

"That'll be exciting, won't it?"

"Why don't you kids go play by yourselves for a few minutes now," Lupe
prompted, "while we visit with Miss Carr?"

The children paused for a moment, disappointed at being excluded, then
skipped across the shaded lawn.

"They're lovely children," Tod told Elena.

"You're very fortunate."

"They look like their father," the doting grandmother replied.

"I heard what happened to Miguel.  I'm sorry," Tori said in Spanish to
the two women.  Sensing Jesse watching her, she turned.  The
brittleness in his smile was relieved by the softness in his dark eyes.
Touched, Tod continued to look at him.

"He was a good son and father," Elena declared.

The statement jolted Tori.  Jesse, a father?  Then she realized his
mother was referring to Miguel.

Lupe's nutmeg brown eyes were downcast, her fingers toying with the
beads of sweat on the glass.  How lonely it must be, Tod thought, to
love someone deeply and passionately and then lose him.  She'd never
loved like that, never given herself completely to a man, never allowed
one to become an inseparable part of her life.  Not Burton.  Not any of
the few men she'd thought she might be falling in love with since
him.

Jesse reached across and slipped the glass she was holding from her
grasp and set it on the table.  He extended his hand a second time. She
was helpless to resist the power he exerted.  There was a shiver of
excitement as they stood facing each other, barely inches apart.  In
those fleeting seconds, she stopped breathing.

Their eyes were locked when he mumbled, "Please excuse us, ladies." But
the others had already faded into abstraction.  For now, there were
just the two of them.

CHAPTER TEN

THEY STROLLED ALONG the path skirting a single-car garage, past the
sloping roof of an old storm cellar.

The children were trying to hang upside down from tires suspended from
a sturdy limb of an ancient oak tree.  Jesse called out to them, "Hey,
you guys.  Be care-fill."

"It's beautiful here," Tori said.

"What a wonderful place to bring up children."

"Sure beats the barrio," he agreed.

"There's room to roam.  Things thrive and bloom here because it's their
nature."

Together they watched the boy hoist his sister into the opening of the
tire, then give her a mighty push.

"Ten cuidado," Jesse cautioned again.

"Be careful.

Don't swing your sister too high.  You don't want her to fall.
Miguelito, it is your duty to protect your little sister.  Make sure
she doesn't get hurt."

In that instant Tori understood the anguish Jesse must have felt when
his brother was killed.  As the older of the two, it had been his duty
to protect Miguel.  That he was in no way responsible for his death
made no difference.  In some inscrutable way, he'd failed his brother,
let his family down.

Just like her father, she thought, blaming himself for her mother's
murder, for something he couldn't have anticipated, couldn't control.
The two men might be surprised at how much they had in common, how much
they thought alike.

Tori watched Teresita dangling contentedly from the rubber tire,
apparently at peace with the world.  She envied the little girl's sense
of security even in the face of the death of a parent.  She hoped that
feeling of security would last for her lifetime.

She turned to Jesse.

"You said you grew up in Santa Marta.  HOw long have you owned this
place?"

"A couple of years.  Most of the down payment came from the insurance
money my father left Mom.

Papa always wanted us to have a place in the country."

She remembered the bedroom in his house, the antiques his sense of
history and continuity.

"This was his final gift to you Jesse."

"And to my children to come."

"You want to have kids?"

"A house full of them."

"That would be nice."  She knew the words sounded a little dreamy.  But
that was the way she felt here, in this place, with this man:--as if
she were in a dream.

"Each of my parents was an only child," she went on a moment later.

"Like me."

"So you don't have any aunts or uncles," he noted, "no cousins to play
with.  You missed a lot."  He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then
added, "Mom only had Miguel and me, but both my parents came from big
families.  I've got relatives all over the place."

Tendrils of summer sunlight spiraled through the trees, but it was the
touch of his hand that produced the warmth Tori felt,

"Thank you for bringing me out here to see your family."

He swung his arm, swinging hers with it, as if they were two
schoolchildren on an adventure.

"Mama wanted to meet you.  She didn't tell me you already knew each
other."

"It's good to see her again."

The shallow woods were alive with songbirds.  Tori followed the
flutelike gurgling of a meadowlark, then pointed when she spied its
bright yellow breast bobbing on a low oak branch.

"I have fond memories of your mother from when I was a girL" They
passed a wild juniper.  She reached out and plucked one of the silvery
violet berries.  When she crashed it between her fingers, it filled the
air with the perfume scent of gin.

"I stayed with Mrs.  Gutierrez every day after school," she continued,
her other hand still buried in Jesse's.

"Mom or Dad would pick me up on their way home from work."  She slanted
a sidelong glance at him.  Sunbeams were playing hopscotch on his
clean-shaven face.

"I never knew Your mother's last name.

Everybody called her Tfa Elena.  She used to stop by in the afternoon
with sweet cakes and candies from the Mexican bakery."

He coaxed her deeper into the woods with a gentle tug.

"She worked there.  Those were the leftovers from the day's sales."

Tori smiled nostalgically.

"Well, it was very kind of her."

The buzzing of cicadas continued unabated.

"So you know what the barrio is like," Jesse said, releasing her hand,
"and the people who live there."

Did she hear an undertone of accusation.  Did he think she was
betraying his community?  This probably wasn't the time to tell him she
was joining her father's firm as his partner.

"Funny," she responded lightly, trying to quell the tiny ripple of
tension she felt building between them, "I don't remember ever seeing
you there."  I would have noticed, too, she told herself, even then.

He fanned long blunt fingers carelessly through his thick black hair.

"I run track before I got into football, so I was always busy. Besides,
we didn't live close to Mrs.  Gutierrez."

Behind them a red-winged blackbird made its characteristic clicking
sound, followed by a high, slurred tee -err.

"How old were you when your mother died?"

He stole her tranquillity with his question.  Tori had to fight the
tightness in her throat.

"Ten," she said huskily.

Jesse reclaimed her hand and squeezed it gently.

"I'm sorry," he said, his deep voice solicitous.

"I

didn't mean to upset you.  I thought after all these years---' "That it
wouldn't still hurt?"  she challenged more harshly than she intended.

"Do you think a child ever gets over losing a mother?"

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"We never completely lose the ones we love.  There's always a part of
them left inside us."

It was her turn to squeeze his hand.  He'd lost a brother only a year
ago.  The recollection made her ashamed for lashing out at him.  They
walked on a little way in silence, her thoughts jumbled, her feelings
chaotic.

"You didn't tell me you spoke Spanish."

She looked up at him, relieved to hear the dark mood of a minute
earlier turning playful.

"I don't remember your asking."  Laughter tumbled out with her words.

"I guess you just assumed that as an Anglo, I vud not speak your
langvich."  Her mock accent sounded like something out of a bad horror
movie.

He cocked an eyebrow, gave her an awkward grin, then burst into a
self-deprecating chortle.

"Everyone spoke Spanishat Mrs.  Gutierrez's house," she explained.

"I learned it easily.  Besides, Mom wanted me to."

"And your father?  How did he feel about it?"  Damn, she thought.  Why
do you keep sniping like this?  But she wasn't going to let him break
the spell.

"Do you think my father's prejudiced against the language as well as
the people?"  She could smile at his discomfort now.

"He agreed, too," she told him.

"Dad's never been any good at languages.  Maybe it's something to do
with right brain, left brain.  I'm not sure.  He tried to at least
learn a few polite phrases in Spanish, but he could never master the
trilled rr.  I used to help him practice saying words like gracias.  Or
we'd count together."

One of her clearest and fondest recollections of home and family was
sitting on her father's lap, playing games, telling stories while her
mother prepared dinner--and laughing together.  There had been an
innocent quality in their merriment that was missing after her mother
died.

"Of course we never got beyond three.  Uno, dos, tr-r-res."  She rolled
her tongue around the word grotesquely.

Even as Jesse chuckled with her, she was aware of his simmering gaze.
She stared out into the broad sun-filled spaces between the huge old
trees.  How different this spot was from the scrubby little backyard at
Mrs.

Gutierrez's tiny house.

"So you understood the things people were saying about you the other
day," he commented.

"Enough to figure out I wasn't very welcome."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged off the memory, unwilling to let him see how much the
insults had stung.

"I guess I understand.

People react differently to the same stimuli, Jesse.  I love Santa
Marta because, for me, it basically holds happy memories of kind, warm
people like your mother.  But for my father, it's got a completely
different association.  His wife's death.  That's why he turned the
properties in Santa Marta over to Burton to manage.

But, Jesse, he doesn't hate or look down on the people there."

He led her through the trees to the banks of the Coyote River.  It was
little more than a narrow stream at this point, slipping lazily between
high, seemingly impregnable banks.  Until the rains came.  Then it
would be a torrent, spilling over, Tori mused, like unwanted emotions
into human lives.

"How about you?  What are your dreams for the future?"

She didn't answer immediately, and he didn't push her.

"I left the air force," she finally said, "because I wanted to fly and
they wouldn't let me."

"So now you're looking for a commercial airline job."

"Flying's important to me," she insisted, not sure why she felt
defensive about it.

"You're obviously good at it.  But why did you come back here?  There
must be more and better opportunities elsewhere."

She laughed.

"Much better."  They strolled along for another minute.

"I love flying, but it's not all there is.

The vagabond life of the military was fun.  I got to see and do more
things than most people do in a lifetime."

They lingered in silence for a minute, the children's laughs and
giggles remote, the loud drone of cicadas closer.  She waited.  His
hand again reached out.  She took it willingly.  Turning to him, she
brought a finger up to trace the cleft of his chin, the lines and
planes of his face.  She sketched the black slashes of brows while she
looked into his eyes.  They could be as hard as ebony or as soft and
sweet as hot fudge.

"More than anything, Jesse, I want a home base.  I want to unpack my
bags."

They walked on in somber silence for several minutes.  He stopped and
they listened to the stream gurgling at their feet while childish
laughter filtered through the trees like half-forgotten memories.

"Tori," be said, and the gentleness in the way he pronounced her name
had her heart floating, her pulse quickening.  She looked expectantly
at him.  The grainy skin of his thumbs worked a tender massage on the
backs of her hands.

"I owe you another apology."

"For what?"  she asked raggedly.

"For misjudging you.  I painted you with the same brush as your father.
That wasn't fair."

"You've misjudged my father, too."

"Yes," he conceded.

"Perhaps I have."

They drew closer.  His mouth covered hers.  The kiss deepened, became
fierce.  She snuggled into his arms, intoxicated by the spicy scent of
juniper and pine lumber and man.  When finally their lips parted, he
held her chin with the edge of a finger.

"I've wanted to do that from the first moment I saw you" he confessed
in an intimate whisper.

The muffled giggles of two little children finally brought them back to
time and place.  Tori felt her face flush for a moment at the
realization that their kiss had been witnessed.  Jesse just smiled and
watched the youngsters scamper out of the woods.  Hand in hand, Tori
and Jesse followed them back to the little house.

His mother was waiting on the steps of the front porch, her round face
bright with pleasure at their approach.

Behind her, Lupe leaned against the doorway, the hint of a grin on her
lips.  It took Tori only a moment to realize the two little urchins had
told them about seeing her and Jesse kiss.  She felt her face warm and
smiled contentedly.

Elena handed Tori a glass with shavings of ice in what looked like
milk.

"I thought you might like some of this."

Tori accepted it tentatively, not sure what it was until she raised it
to her lips.  The aroma of tapioca assailed her senses like a slash of
pain ripping across her consciousness.

"Orchada!"  she mumbled, then forced a grin.

"You remember it!"  Elena exclaimed in Spanish.

"We used to give it to you sometimes with the cookies in the
afternoon.?"

"Yes," Tori whispered as tears welled up.  She had been drinking orch
ada at Mrs.  Gutierrez's house the day the madman murdered her mother.
She squeezed out the memory, concentrated on the sweet drink she had
enjoyed as a child but hadn't tasted since that terrible day.

"It's made from rice, isn't it?"  She sipped its sugary sweetness.

"Much as gracias, seora" Elena smiled, unaware of the nature of the
emotions the rich beverage was conjuring up.  She took the glass when
Tori was finished and left them.

Jesse had said things looked different out here in the country, Tori
thought.  Had he known the world would change--for both of them?  He
walked her to her car.

"I know who had my father arrested."

"I didn't think it would take you long to figure it out."

She stopped and faced him.  Sunbeams sneaked through the breeze-blown
trees and danced across his suntanned features.  God, he was
beautiful.

"You knew?  Why didn't you tell me?"

"When?"  he countered lightly.

"You accused me, if you'll recall.  You weren't exactly in a mood to
listen, She winced at the recollection.

"But I knew once I gave you a hint, you'd work it out."

Tori nodded, not in the least consoled by her own brilliance.

"It's so obvious.  Martin has the most to lose if Santa Marta is torn
down.  The residents there are basically good, law-abiding people, but
they're politically passive.  If Riverbend becomes a reality, they'll
be replaced by rich, powerful and presumably more politically active
Anglos."

"Exactly.  He runs unoPpoSed in District Seven.  In the rest of the
town he's Henry Martin.  In the barrio he's still Enrique Martinez, one
of us.  Years ago he was."

"But without his Hispanic constituency, he's out of office," she
said.

"And out of power."

They stood beside each other in the bright summer sun.  She didn't feel
its heat.  She was aware only of his hands on her shoulders turning her
toward him, the slow sweep of his eyes over her face, his lips meeting
hers.  This kiss wasn't passionate so much as affectionate.

It lasted only seconds.  Long enough to leave her breathless.

He opened the car door for her and handed her in, then stood and
watched as she drove away.

Tori barely remembered to close the gate when she left the Amorado
ranch a few minutes later.  Her mind was caught in a maelstrom.  A
flood of facts, ideas and emotions was swirling inside her with a
turbulence that was overwhelming.  The political implications were
complex, but... Jesse's kisses.  She'd wanted him to kiss her.  She
wanted to kiss him again.  Beyond that, what?

Two i-Iotms LAm, Tori drove up to the Spanish Arms apartments on South
Travis Street.

"What are you doing here?"  Espy groaned when she opened the door, her
tightly jeaned legs slightly apart in the classic stance of the
defender.

"I came," Tori said firmly, "to talk to you."

"About what?"

Tori let the question hang for a moment.

"About your relationship with Henry Martin."

Espy looked quickly over her shoulder.  Tori became alarmed when she
saw a shadow cross the doorway.

Could Martin himself be with her?

"You might as well come in," said Espy with a fatalistic shrug, "and
join the party."

Tori hesitated.  What was she walking into?  Just then, beyond the
hall, a black silhouette appeared, the outline of a man etched against
the orange-and-purple glow of the setting sun.  Ton's heart skipped a
beat.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor I you" she replied, and stepped into the entryway

Espy closed the door behind her.  Tori moved into the living room.  "if
I'm interrupting anything..."

The flash of a smile quickened the edges of Jesse's mouth.

"Just a little question-and-answer session," he replied.

"About Martin and Espy."

"I don't know what you two are talking about."

Espy's long metallic earrings clinked as she stomped around her
guests.

Jesse followed her with his eyes.

"I think you do," he declared, all hint of the levity he'd shared with
Tori gone from his tone.  He leaned against the back of the couch, his
hands splayed on the upright cushions.

"You've been feeding Martin information about what's going on in the
barrio.  In exchange for what?

This?"

He twisted around, picked up a Bennett scholarship application that had
been lying on the end table and thrust it under her nose.

Espy glowered at him, bloodred lips compressed, hands on hips.  Fury
seemed to battle with fear as she seethed.

Tori broke in.

"Espy, you were in the office the other day when Jesse made his
demands.  You heard my father say he'd consider and try to accommodate
them.  You passed that on to Martin."

"What if I did?"  Espy snarled back at her.  Tori wasn't looking
forward to a shouting match, especially in a small apartment with
paper-thin walls, "Jesse was going to sell out.  Somebody's got to
protect the barrio," Espy proclaimed self-righteously.

Tod noticed Jesse seemed unfazed by either the accusation or the
violence of the outburst.

"You think Martin is that somebody?"  she questioned.

"Come on, Espy, you're not a fool."

"Or are you?"  Jesse asked with a stabbing undertone of ridicule.

"You know damn well I wasn't selling out.  Carr couldn't possibly meet
my demands.  That was the point."

Tod knew she should be shocked at Jesse's admission of duplicity, but
the dance had been well choreographed--both parties knew their roles.

"Martin not only hasn't protected Santa Marta," Tori told Espy, "he's
hurt it and the people in it."

"It isn't Carr who's kept the barrio depressed all these years," Jesse
added.

"It's your friend, Martin, by turning down our permit requests to
improve conditions there.  Espy glared from Jesse to Tori and back
again.

"Well, it's her father," Espy yelled at him, "who let the houses get so
bad Santa Marta mined into a slum.  Tori took a steadying breath.

"My father is partly responsible," she conceded in a milder tone.

"But what's happened isn't totally his fault."

"Yeah, right," Espy muttered under her breath.

"Carr's a businessman."  Jesse waved his hand in dismissal.

"All he did was take advantage of the situation Martin created by
keeping his greedy little palm out for bribes.  Bribes most of the
people there can't afford and shouldn't have to."

Tori looked at him, unable to believe her ears.  Jesse was actually
defending her father.  It was difficult to resist the temptation to
smile, hard to suppress the urge to throw her arms around his neck.

She pointed to the scholarship application in Jesse's hand.

"Is that what yon want, Espy?  Martin's help, knowing you'll always be
indebted to him--owe him?"

Espy looked away balefully.

"He's using you" Jesse declared, "and he'll continue to use you."

"You don't want me to go to school, to get an education?

Espy cried.

He flung the paper onto the coffee table.

"You know damn well that isn't true."  His voice was tight, angry, but
he softened it.

"I want you to do it, but on your terms, not Martin's.  Otherwise,
you'll never be happy."

Espy picked up the application form, scanned it, crumpled it and threw
it onto the table, then retreated, stiff-necked, to the window.  Tori
didn't have to see her face to know the turmoil raging within the
woman, the frustration and sense of defeat.

"Espy, I need your help," Tori said quietly after a minute.

Espy turned, grabbed a tissue from a box on a side table and wiped her
nose.

"What kind of help?"

Jesse lifted a brow, then added, "We need answers to questions that'll
bring Martin down."

Tori didn't miss his use of the word we.  Clearly Espy didn't, either,
as she surveyed them both.

"You'll still help me find a scholarship for college?"  she asked
Tori.

"I said I would."

Tori meant it.  But she also knew Espy was assuming it was a trade-off
information against Martin in exchange for a scholarship.  Under other
circumstances Tori would have made it clear the help wasn't conditional
and that she couldn't guarantee Espy would ever receive her grant.  But
not this time.  Not when her father's reputation and well-being were at
stake.

"What do you want to know?"  Espy asked suspiciously.

ESPY WASN'T ABLE TO TELL them much they didn't already know or suspect.
She had reported Jesse's meeting with Ton's father.  Martin knew
Winslow couldn't possibly meet Jesse's demands for land and backing to
build on Coyote Mesa.  What worried the councilman was that they were
talking to each other, that Jesse had sought out Winslow.  If the two
men reached an agreement, Riverbend could become a reality and Martin
would lose his constituency.  Until then he'd been able to stand by and
let Jesse undermine Winslow's ambition in Santa Marta.  This changed
everything.  Martin panicked.  Espy overheard him tell one of his men
it was time to talk with the D.A. about having Winslow charged with
bribery.

Ton's mind was eased when she realized her father's arrest had nothing
to do with But Tori aborted attempt to have Jesse's properties
condemned.  She didn't like the way Burton handled things in the
barrio, but at least he'd kept his word.

She had also watched the dynamics between Jesse and his "business
associate."  If Jesse had ever been tempted by Esperanza Mendez, he
definitely wasn't now.  Espy had betrayed him, used him and the people
of the barrio to gain her own ends.  He might forgive her someday, but
he'd never forget it.

It was close to midnight when Tori and Jesse left Espy's apartment and
went down to the parking lot around the corner.  Jesse's truck was
parked on the far west side of a motor home----which' explained why
Tori hadn't seen it when she drove up.

They stood beside her car in semidark shadows.  He draped his arms
casually across her shoulders.  Looking up at him, at the stubble of
beard, she put her hands on his hips, then wriggled her fingers into
his back pockets.  She enjoyed the surprised, uncomfortable expression
on his face.

"Tight jeans," she murmured, and watched him squirm.

"They do seem to be getting a little snug.  He raise a brow, completed
the circle of his arms around her shoulders and gave her a hard, hungry
kiss.  Loosening his grip enough to lean back from the waist, he gazed
playfully into her eyes.

"Gutsy lady," he murmured.

"You took quite a chance up there.  If Espy turns tail and reports back
to her padrino, Martin will be in a position to make things even
tougher on your father."

It wasn't easy concentrating on his words when her mind was tuned to
his body.

"I thought of that," she replied.

"Martin's wily enough to make Dad's contributions to his campaign fund
look like the bribes they were.  But it seems to me it's a two-edged
sword.  Martin can't very well blow the whistle on years of bribery
without acknowledging he's been receiving it."

Jesse chuckled softly.

"Don't underestimate a politician's ability to manipulate facts as well
as people.

He probably used someone as a go-between, someone I he'll tag as the
fall guy.  He'll acknowledge mistakes were made, then blame some
overzealous subordinate who acted without his knowledge or authority."
He stroked her back.

"Do you think Espy will go running to Martin I time?"

Jesse considered her question.

"No.  She knows n Martin is a dead end, and worse, a victimizer."

Tori raised her head and looked up at him.

"Je" she's been a victim all her life."

He pondered her words.

"After all she's dc you're still willing to help her?"

"Everybody needs help from time to time, Jesse.

all have our dreams."

"And what about Tori Carr?"  he whispered, tongue tickling her ear.

"What are her dreams?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JESSE WATCHED TORI DRIVE away from the apartment complex.  They had
parted with an unspoken mutual understanding that the time wasn't yet
right for either of them, not for the potential commitments he' knew
they were both contemplating.

He climbed into his pickup and drove slowly, thoughtfully to his home
in the barrio.  There was no use denying it anymore.  He was falling in
love with Tod Carr, the daughter of the man he had until today
considered his nemesis.

He spent the weekend at the ranch, mending fences, chopping firewood
for the coming winter and diligently whittling away at his mother's
list of chores.  Sunday night, however, he was back in his own bed in
Santa Marta, family and physical labor no longer able to distract him
from the person foremost in his mind.

It was a torturous night, torturous because he kept imagining what it
would be like to have her there in his bed beside him, under him, over
him .... He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted Tod Carr.  He'd
never ached for a woman the way his body ached for her now.

She felt the same pull.  He was sure of it.  Hadn't their sses
demonstrated that, the way she touched him, the way they fitted
together, reacted to each other?

By sunrise Monday morning he was exhausted from lack of sleep, from
fantasies that had kept him in a perpetual state of stimulation all
night long.

He donned jogging shorts and a tank top.  Maybe a good run would clear
his mind, ease some of the tension tormenting his body.

As he ran past decaying houses, Jesse pondered Ton's recognition that
it was Martin who'd had her father arrested.  Jesse had never liked
Martin.  He'd known for a long time the man was greedy and corrupt.

But he'd found it easier to indict Winslow Carr and Burton Hazlitt,
rich Anglos, than the "humble Hispanic."

In the heat of sudden anger, he broke into a hard sprint, trying to
escape the sudden realization that maybe he was the one who was
prejudiced.

But, of course, Martin wasn't one of them anymore, hadn't been for a
long time.  Changing Martinez to Martin wasn't exactly like changing
Przybyszewski to Price.  He wasn't simply making his name shorter or
simpler, he was denying his heritage.

The more Jesse thought about it, the more incensed and deeply offended
he became.  He'd blamed Winslow Carr for most of the things that had
gone wrong in Santa Marta, and while Carr was partly at fault, Tori had
made it clear her father wasn't the only villain in the case.  Jesse
knew he, too, was guilty of willful blindness, for misguided, if not
cowardly, silence.  Acknowledgment left a stale taste in his mouth.

Jesse returned to his house, showered, shaved and put on clean Levi's,
a new open-necked knit shirt and polished boots.  He forced himself to
obey traffic laws as he drove from his house to the city councilman's
office downtown.  A middle-aged Anglo woman greeted him amiably at the
reception desk and asked him if he had an appointment.

"I didn't know I needed one to see my elected representative," Jesse
replied lightly, suppressing his animosity.

"Of course you don't," the woman said sweetly.

"But Mr.  Martin is very busy, so it's sometimes easier to get a moment
of his time if he's expecting you."

Jesse inhaled deeply, paused, then spoke as casually as he could.

"Well, would you see if he can spare me a few moments now?"

"May I tell him the nature of the visit?"

"Just tell him it's Jesse Amorado."

The woman picked up the phone and announced him.  Martin was out of his
office in a flash.

"Jesse, it's good to see you" he said, practically bubbling over with
bonhomie.  He had his hand out as he approached, and before Jesse
realized it, he was shaking it.

"Come on into my office."  He reached up and placed a friendly hand on
Jesse's shoulder, then ushered him through the open doorway, closing
the door quietly behind them.

Martin planted his generous rump against the front of his big, shiny
mahogany desk and swept a hand toward an upholstered chair.

"Now, what can I do for you?"

Jesse ignored the invitation to sit and came right to the point.

"It was you who had Carr arrested, wasn't it?"

Martin seemed both surprised and pleased by the question, as though he
had single-handedly saved Jesse's properties and expected him to be
grateful.

"As a matter of fact, I was instrument ai in bringing the information
to the district attorney's attention."

"Why?"

"Why?"  Martin repeated, his bushy black brows arching in surprise.

"Isn't it obvious?  The man was breaking the law, attempting to bribe a
public servant."

When Jesse failed to respond, the politician went on.

"Besides, I should think you'd be pleased, since it was your property
he was Uying to get condemned."

So Martin did know about Hazlitt's attempt to have Jesse's property
inspected.  Had Espy lied?  Why would she?  Or had Martin found out
about it only after Carr's arrest?

"It just strikes me as curious," Jesse commented, "considering all the
money he's paid you---" "Hold it right there, Amorado," Martin said
sternly, standing up as tall as his five feet six inches would allow.
The smile was gone.

"I suggest you think very carefully before you make any statements you
might regret."

"I just figured you owed him a little more loyalty.

After all, he's been paying you for years--" "Stop," Martin said
forcefully, his flabby face taking on a menacing color, his eyes
narrowing.

"It's true Winslow Carr has contributed to my campaign fund from time
to time.  So have a lot of other people.

doesn't entitle him or anyone else to special privileges."

"Doesn't it?"  Jesse replied.

"Tell me, do you think an audit of your bank account might uncover a
correlation between the amounts you garner from various construction
enterprises and the numbers and types of permits and contracts the
office grants?"

Jesse watched as Martin's already flushed face grew even darker with
rage.  He could smell the fear.

"I understand you're under a great deal of suain, Jesse."  Martin's
pudgy fingers trembled as he combed them through his bottle-dyed
hair.

"But I'd be very careful if I were you about making statements like
that in public.  They constitute defamation of character.  I cannot and
will not allow my good name to be besmirched by scurrilous comments
from you or anyone else."

Maybe if Martin hadn't made reference to his name, a name and a
heritage he was obviously ashamed of, Jesse wouldn't have gotten so
incensed by the hypocrite's rhetoric.

"We're not in public here," Jesse pointed out.

"We're in your private office."  He turned away from his
representative, took a step, inhaled deeply, then spun around to face
him again.

"You've done everything you can to keep the people of Santa Marta
down.

You've turned against your own."

"That's it."  Martin threw up his arms.

"I don't have to listen to any more of this.  Get out," he thundered,
then, lowering his voice, said between clenched teeth, "and kiss your
properties goodbye.  Carr may not have succeeded in getting them
condemned, but by God, I will.  I'[1 have every neglected house in this
district condemned to make way for public housing."

Jesse was shocked.  It would be a major turnaround for the councilman
and a dangerous one.  Jesse might not constitute a threat, but Winslow
Carr still had a lot of powerful friends.

"Are you going to take over Carr's properties, too?"

Martin smirked.

"You're the last one I'd expect to be worried about Carr.  Or is it the
skirt of his pretty little daughter you're interested in?  She's sure
got you by the hormones."

Jesse's blood was pounding in his ears.  He considered continuing the
confrontation but rejected the idea as unproductive.

Martin strode to the door and pulled it open.

"Now get out," he ordered imperiously.

As Jesse moved past him, Martin said in an intimate undertone, "I heard
she got tired of doing it by the numbers military-style and is looking
for a macho Mexican stud.  So how is she in bed, amigo?"

Jesse snapped.  Before he realized he was doing it, before he even had
a chance to stop himff, he brought up a tight fist and slammed it into
Martin's face.

The receptionist let out a scream as Martin crumpled, unconscious, his
broken nose bleeding onto the thick carpet.

Jesse stomped out of the office, his body shaking with rage both at
Martin and at himlf for letting the SOB get to him.

An hour later, the police were at Jesse Amorado's front door with
handcuffs and a warrant for his arrest

LEss TWO AWAY, Tori was in her office around the corner from Lydia's
desk She was-having a hard time concentrating on Riverbend.  She'd
never told Jesse she was proposing they scale back on the project, make
it a mixed community very much like the one he himself envisioned.  The
problem was so many distractions.

Like the recollection of his kisses and the way his body had felt
pressing against hers.

Like the relief of knowing neither her father nor his partner was as
much to blame for the barrio detioration as she had previously
supposed.

Like shame that her father was still charged with bribing a public
official.  The specific instance that prompted his arrest was invalid,
but the overall charge was true.  if the D.A. wanted to push it hard
enough, he could probably make it stick.  Would her father have to go
to jail?  Spend time in prison?  The possibility was unthinkable.

A light tapping snapped her attention away from the publicity photos
she'd been shuffling blindly for the past ten minutes.  Burton was
leaning against the door frame.

"It was just on the radio," he announced.

"Special bulletin.  Jesse Amorado's been arrested."

"Arrested?  What for?"  There was no way she could control the Uemor in
her question.

"It seems he and Henry Martin had a slight disagreement.

According to the news report, Amorado went over to Martin's office,
argued with him and punched the good councilman out."

In spite of the sudden knot in her stomach, she wanted to laugh.

"Really?  Did they say why?"

"No.  Martin's secretary told the reporter it was completely
unprovoked, Amora came storming in, demanded to see his elected
representative, spoke to him briefly and then coldcocked him."

Tori suppressed the urge to shout "Yes!"  She didn't usually approve of
violence, but punching Martin's lights out somehow seemed absolutely
fitting.  Her satisfaction must have shown on her face, because when
she glanced across the small room, Burton was smiling, too.

"Where is he now?  jesse, I mean."

"In jail, of course."

Tori pulled a telephone directory from her desk drawer, looked up a
number and grabbed the phone.

"What are you doing?"  Burton asked.

"Who are you calling?"

Tori held up a hand to silence him: then spoke into the receiver in
Spanish.

"Senora Amorado, this is Tori.

What's going on?  How is Jesse?"

"Oh, Victoria, they have arrested him."

"Yes, I know.  Did he really hit Martin?"

"Sr.  He's in the hospital.  They say he might have a broken nose."

"What about Jesse?  Are they going to release him?"

"Lupe is talking with Jesse's lawyer, trying to figure out a way to get
the bail money.  The judge set the bail at one hundred thousand
dollars."

A hundred grand for a punch in the nose?  Wow!

Martin did have clout.

Tori knew a bond would cost ten percent--ten thousand dollars.
Nonrefundable.

"How are you going to raise the money?"

"We will have to borrow it.  But where?  There is already a mortgage on
this ranch.  Perhaps we will have to sell--" "No," Tori told her.

"Don't do that.  Tell Lupe not to sign anything, seora.  Let me see
what I can do first."

She could hear the tears in the old woman's halting speech.

"I cannot let you do that, Victoria.  Jesse will be very angry with me.
This is a family matter.  It will bring dishonor for him if I let
you--" "No, it won't," Tori corrected her gently, hoping what she was
saying was true.  Damn machismo.

"Please, let me take care of everything."

"Victoria," Elena pleaded, "he is my only son now.

He is a good man.  He does not belong in jail."

"I know that," Tori said consolingly.

"I promise you seora, I won't do anything to hurt him.  What's the name
of Jesse's lawyer?"

Elena passed on Benito Guzman's address and telephone number.

"Everything's going to be all fight," Tori assured her.

"Much as gracias," the old woman sobbed.

"I will do as you say.  Jesse trusts you."

The last words swam in her head.  Jesse trusts you.  Tori wanted to ask
so many questions.  When did he say that?  What else did he say?  But
there was no time now.  She hung up the phone, suddenly aware of Burton
looking quizzically at her, waiting for an explanation--in English.

"I was talking to Jesse's mother."  Tori brushed past him.

"Come on, I need to talk to Dad."

Burton followed as she rounded the corner, making directly for her
father's office.

"Wait," Lydia called out as Tori reached for the brightly polished
brass doorknob.

"He's got someone with him."

Tori turned the handle and barged in anyway.

Winslow Carr wasn't used to being interrupted when his door was closed.
But his annoyance melted the moment he saw his daughter.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Dad, but--" Nelson Spooner, her father's
attorney, rose from his chair and faced her, his courtesy mixed with
irritation.  He apparently didn't like being disturbed when he was with
a client, either.  They exchanged polite greetings.

"I'm glad you're here, Mr.  Spooner," she said, shaking his hand.  She
turned to her father.

"Dad, Jesse's been arrested."

"Yes, I know.  We were just talking about--"

"We need to get him released."

Carr's brows wrinkled in confusion.

"We do?"  He looked past her to Burton, but his partner merely
shrugged.

"Actually," Spooner said thoughtfully, "I think you've got Amorado
right where you want him."

"Maybe you like the idea of people being thrown in jail on trumped-up
charges, Mr.  Spooner, but I don't."

Her father cocked an eyebrow.

"All I know," she said more calmly, "is that Jesse's in jail and
doesn't deserve to be."

"Trumped-up charges?"  Spooner echoed.

"How do you know they're false."?"

"I don't," Tori shot back, unwilling to retreat from a statement she
knew she couldn't prove.

"But I know Jesse, and I know he wouldn't strike someone without
provocation."

She also knew she was saying too much, getting too emotional, but the
idea of Jesse languishing in jail because of a corrupt politician made
her blood boil.

"Dad," she said, "we've got to go post Jesse's bail.

I've spoken with his mother.  They could lose their ranch.  Winslow
frowned.

"Maybe he should have thought of that before he physically assaulted a
public official."

But there was no conviction in the indictment.

"Martin deserved it," Tori insisted.

"That's for a court to decide," the lawyer reminded her.

Tori wasn't interested in a legal-political-philosophical debate with a
man who was trained to take the side of whoever paid him.  Over a
cocktail at the country club it might be fun, but not here, not now.

"Mr.  Spooner," she said formally, "I'd like to retain your services to
effect the release of Jesse Amorado and to represent him in court if
and when this matter is brought to trial."

Burton stared at her, clearly mystified by this strange turn of
events.

"How are you planning on paying his legal fees?"  he asked, not
unreasonably.

"Do you have the cash?"

"Not at the moment, But I can get it."  She folded an errant lock of
hair behind her ear.

"I'll sell my plane."

"That's pretty radical.  Do you expect him to pay you back?"

She swallowed a curse and was about to say that this wasn't about
money, when her father interrupted.

"He means a lot to you doesn't he?"  It was as much a statement as a
question.

"Yes," she answered simply, then pressed her lips together against the
sudden threat of tears.

"No need to sell your wings," Burton observed.

"Besides, it'll take too long.  If this is so important to you I'll
lend you the money for Amorado's bail."

Tod felt as if the air had just been let out of a great balloon in her
chest.  Impulsively she threw her arms around But Tori neck.  The
unexpected embrace startled him for a moment, but then he hugged her
back.

"We could be so good together," he whispered in her ear.

"You and me again.  The way it used to be."

"That's in the past, Burton," she replied softly.

"We both know it.  But thanks for doing this for "I hope you know what
you're doing," he said, releasing her.

"I can tell you this----your macho hero isn't going to be very happy
when he finds out he was bailed out by a woman, even a beautiful
woman."

I'll cross that bridge when we come to it, she thought.

Winslow studied his fingernails for a moment, then spoke up.

"Make the loan to Carr Enterprises."

Jesse didn't have to know the money for his release had come from
Burton, only that Carr Enterprises had come through for him.

Burton looked uncertain, then a big smile lit up his face.

"Of course.  It's easier to negotiate with a friend than a rival.  That
ought to get him on our side.  Good thinking, Win."

Tori didn't like the turn the discussion had taken.

This wasn't about manipulation.  It was about getting the man she cared
for out of jail.

JESS FELT DIRTY.  The surroundings had something to do with it, but he
felt dirty inside, too.  He'd finally joined that very special
brotherhood of the barrio---he'd been in jail.

How would he ever face Tod?  How could he expect her to respect him
when he'd disgraced himself?.  He couldn't tell her he'd landed in jail
defending her name.

He should have had more serf-control.  Instead, he'd been a chump,
allowed himself to be suckered, lost his cool and now his dignity.

A uniformed jailer came to his cell.  He didn't say anything, just put
a key in the lock, swung the door open, then nodded to a man behind
him.  The man, probably in his forties, seemed to sniff the air as he
entered the cage.  The turnkey walked away without locking the gate.

"Who are you?"  Jesse asked.

"My name is Nelson Spooner.  I'm an attorney."  He seemed a little
reluctant at first to offer his hand, but he did, and Jesse made it a
point to give him a good, hard handsahake.  He had no doubt one of the
first things the lawyer would do when he left was wash it.

"Did Bennie Gu'nan send you?"  he asked.

"I've been retained by Carr Enterprises," Spooner explained.

"Carr?  I don't understand," Jesse said, puzzled.

"What's Winslow Carr got to do---" "Mr.  Carr asked me to post bail and
represent your legal interests.  Mr.  Guzman's been informed.  You're
flee to go."

"I still don't understand," Jesse said.

"Why would Carr--" "There's not much to understand," Spooner said
curtly.

Was this Winslow Carr's way of suckering him?

Jesse wondered.  Tit for tat?  I got you out of jail, now you turn over
your properties to me?

"Do you want to get out of here or not?"  Spooner demanded
impatiently.

"Sure, but--" Spooner reached into his inside jacket pocket, extracted
a small white card and handed it to Jesse.

"I

recommend you contact my office in a day or two so we can go over your
case."

Ten minutes later Jesse was on the pay phone outside the jailhouse
calling the ranch.  His mother answered on the first ring.  It was
painful listening to her pleas for assurance that he was safe and
sound.

"I'm perfectly fine.  I promise you.  Ma, I have a couple of
questions..."

A few minutes later, Jesse said, "I love you Ma.

I'll see you tomorrow."

The gusty fresh air of the busy street refreshed him a little.  He
didn't have his truck here, but they'd returned his pocket money, which
was enough to get a cab back to his house.  But it was only a couple of
miles to his office.  He had a change of clothes there.  Besides, the
walk would give him time to stretch his cramped muscles and think.

He'd just turned the last corner when he saw the shiny red 'vette
parked in front of Amorado Construction.

The woman he hadn't been able to get out of his thoughts for days was
leaning casually against it in a pose similar to the one he'd assumed
in her parking lot two days before.  The fatigue of a minute ago
vanished.

Tori WATCHED HIM APPROACH.  His clothes, normally so crisp and clean,
were rumpled and smudged.  But instead of detracting from his
appearance, they enhanced it.  His eyes, hooded by weariness, had an
enigmatic quality that made them even more fascinating.

The heaviness of his tread spoke not of weakness or defeat, but of
strength.  He strode with his head held high, proud, defiant,
determined.  And sexy as hell.

"Taxi, mister?"  she said when he came within a few feet of her.  When
he didn't immediately respond, she began to panic.

"We signed a trace, remember?"  she teased, although her heart was
thudding.  Say something, damn it!  she wanted to shout.  Please.

"And kissed on it."

Only then did he smile.  She threw her arms around him.  There was a
desperation in the way she held him, as if she were afraid he was a
mirage.

They kissed, a long, slow, passionate kiss.  Then she laid her head on
his chest.  He reeked of disinfectant and sweat.  She didn't care.

"I'm dirty and smelly," he said as he held her.

She chuckled softly and raised a hand to the dense stubble of his
beard.

"Your house or the ranch?"

He covered her hand with his, brought her palm around to kiss it.

"My house."  It came out a hoarse whisper.

Sim COULD ONLY CATCH glimpses of him as she drove along the potholed
streets.  Only glance distractedly at the sunlight playing on his
wrinkled jeans.  Only see the movement of his hand as it brushed
unruly, shiny black hair back from his somber face.

"Penny for your thoughts."  She maneuvered a deserted corner just as
the light went yellow.

"I was wondering what the rauchachos will think about me being rescued
by a woman."

"Now, where did you get that idea?"

His laugh crackled.

"I've got to warn you about Ma.

She can't keep a secret.  Especially when she's happy about
something."

Another moment of troth, Tod thought.  She looked straight ahead, her
fingers tightening on the wheel.

"What do you think they'll say?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the twinkle in his side long glance and the
gusto in his answer.

"They'll say,

"Lucky man.""

She had an irresistible urge to stop the car right in the middle of the
street and throw her arms around him.

She had to content herself instead with reaching for his hand.  His
caress, so warm and coarse and tender and strong, made her skin tingle,
her heart sing.

"I haven't said thank-you yet," Jesse said seriously.

She squeezed his hand.

"You just did."

He wrapped his other hand around hers and rested it on his thigh.  Heat
radiated from him.  No words were necessary---or possible---as they
drove the few remaining blocks to his house.

"I'm FOR A SHOWER," Jesse announced after he'd closed the front door
behind them.

"That place made me feel even dirtier than I am."

She gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

"You go ahead.  I'll make some coffee.  Are you hungry?"

He thought a moment.

"No, I don't think so."

"You will be," she promised him.

"Hmm," was his only reply as he went to the bedroom.

A moment later, she caught a glimpse of him as he stepped into the
bathroom down the hall.

She found the shower ridiculously distracting.  It wasn't the sound of
the running water that had her nerves on edge so much as the image it
elicited, an image of Jesse, naked, standing in its cascading stream.

She searched for and found coffee beans.  At least the noise of the
grinder drowned out the sound of the shower.  But not the images
crowding her mind.  Or the sensations creeping through her flesh.

She was opening the pantry door by the hallway to look for something to
fix as a snack when she saw him emerge from the bathroom, bare-chested,
wearing only his briefs.  She stopped in mid motion her pulse beating
erratically.  He smiled serf-consciously at her and quickly retreated
into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.  Only then did
she begin to breathe again.

He reappeared a few minutes later, barefoot, in faded blue Dockers
shorts and a red knit shirt that showed off his olive skin to pure
distraction.

"How are you doing?"  he asked, surveying her, not the work in
progress.

She could smell the tangy aroma of bath soap and aftershave.  Her knees
felt like jelly.

"Fine.  I found some corn tortillas, frijoles and cheddare.  I thought
I'd make some chalupas."

"Sounds good.  I'll get the salsa."

"Great."  She turned toward the refrigerator just as he did, and they
collided.  Her rubbery legs gave out, and he grabbed her arms to steady
her.

"Sorry," he murmured softly, his eyes on hers, his hands firmly
clasping her arms just below the shoulders, his thumbs rhythmically
massaging her bare skin.

"It was my fault," she muttered.  Then, for no discernible reason,
tears welled in her eyes.

He caught her chin with the side of a forefinger and lifted her face to
his.  Thank God he didn't ask what was wrong.

"It's going to be okay," he assured her, and pulled her against his
chest.  She could hear his heart beating in syncopation with hers.

"Things will work out," he whispered.

"Just you wait and see."

She lifted her face to him.  He brought his mouth down to hers.  The
kiss was gentle at first, then grew in intensity.  His hands stroked
her back, settled on her hips for a brief moment, then reached down and
pulled her to him.  There was no doubting his need.  No denying hers.

She clutched the firm muscles of his broad shoulders, pressed herself
against his persistent hardness.

"Yes," she murmured to the silent question his subtle movements were
posing.

He nibbled the delicate skin below her ear.

"Are you sure?"  He trailed his open mouth along the base of her
throat.

"Mmm."

He led her by the hand.  The evening light cast the bedroom into
delicate shadow, but they could see clearly what they were doing.

His hands gently fondled the fullness of her breasts before they
unbuttoned her blouse.  The delicate touch of his fingers set her
aflame.  He nuzzled her neck with lips and teeth and tongue as he
released her bra, melting away any desire to resist.  His mouth played
hungrily with her erect nipples.  She threw back her head and bit her
lip, breathing heavily.

She pulled his shirt over his head and ran her fingers across his thick
pectoral muscles.  He groaned as she released his buckle, tugged on the
zipper and slipped her hand against his bulge before easing the pants
down his narrow hips.

"I want you" he whispered as he settled her on the bed.

"I've always wanted you."  Together they removed the last barriers of
clothing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tori Went HOME to change clothes before going into the office.  Her
father was in the large country kitchen, eating a breakfast of fried
eggs and sausage.  He smiled when he saw her, then looked sheepish when
she scrutinized the food on his plate.

"Don't tattle on me to Lydia, please," he begged, sounding like a
little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Lydia isn't the only one who's concerned about you Dad," she said
sternly.

"I know all that rabbit food is good for me, but once in a while I get
hungry for the real stuff."

"Is that what this is, real stuff?."  she moCked.

"Okay, okay, I won't lecture.  Just promise you won't do this too
often."

"Promise," he said, holding up the middle fingers of his right hand
like a good Boy Scout.

This time she laughed and gave him a hug.  She poured a cup of coffee
and removed a slice of cantaloupe from the refrigerator.  She and Jesse
had taken so long in the shower they'd barely had time to gulp down a
glass of orange juice.

"You didn't come home last night," her father commented as she took her
place across from him and scooped a piece of the sweet Pecos melon onto
a spoon.

"I was perfectly safe," she replied casually.

"I know," he said.  She noticed he didn't ask where she'd been.

"I drove around last night, saw your car at his house."

Had he been checking up on her?

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Dad."

Winslow smiled.

"I know you're not, sweetheart.  I wasn't spying on you and I didn't
mean to sound as if I thought you had to ask my permission."

She watched him take a bite of toast.  Then it struck her she'd driven
through the barrio.

"Do you love him?"  her father asked after a sip of coffee.

A multitude of reactions raced through her at once, thoughts and
feelings she needed time to sort out.

"I think I do, but it's happened so fast," she replied honestly.

"This feels so different from anything I've experienced before."

Her father spread marmalade on another piece of buttered toast.

"Does he love you?"

She thought about the way Jesse touched her.

"I

think so."

"But you're not sure?"

"Can any of us ever be sure about another person?"

Winslow regarded her with a gentleness she wasn't expecting or perhaps
had never noticed before.  For just a fleeting moment, she thought she
saw sorrow, as well.

"Yes, I think so," he said.

"About love we can.  I loved your mother with the absolute certainty
she loved me.  I hope she never doubted my feelings for her."

Her father rarely talked about her mother, never on such a personal
level.  Maybe that was what she'd missed all these years, the sharing
of intimate emotions.

"Listen to your heart," he advised.

"You'll know.

If he does love you love him back with everything you've got."

It was wise counsel, but the passion was hardly what she expected from
her father.

"What about you and Lydia, Dad?  Are you going to marry her?"

His face softened for an instant, then took on the detached facade
she'd seen too often when delicate subjects were broached.

"When the time's right."  He got up quickly, removed his haft-eaten
breakfast and took it to the sink, effectively cutting off any further
discussion.  He returned a moment later and refilled his coffee cup.

"Spooner sent the paperwork over for your partner-ship," he
announced.

"I thought I'd invite the mayor and some other dignitaries to the
office today at high noon and get the newspaper and TV folks to record
this historic event.  Maybe we can distract attention from some of the
less pleasant things going on.  It isn't every day a man has the
privilege of welcoming his daughter into his business as a full
partner."

"Sounds great, Dad.  But it's awfully short notice.

Will anyone show up?"  Will Jesse?

"This is Coyote Springs," he said with a chuckle, "not Washington.
Don't need a week's notice here.

Besides, I'll call people personally.  Gives me a chance to brag about
my little girl."

She liked the sparkle in his eyes.  She got up and kissed him on the
forehead.

"I'm a pretty lucky girl to have a dad like you."

He gave a broad, serf-conscious smile.

"I'm very proud of you.  Have I told you that lately?"

"Yep," she said quietly.  They exchanged little grins.

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"No.  Lydia and I will handle everything."

"Would you mind if Icail Jesse and invite him?"

"Certainly, if you like."

A wave of affection washed over her, quickly followed by an undertow of
regret.  She wanted to fly airplanes, feel the exhilarating rash of
adrenaline when she lifted off, the serenity of gliding through puffy
white clouds, the thrill of danger when they snarled and bucked.  She
didn't want to give it up.

What about Carr Enterprises?  Was she joining it on its dying gasp? Was
she letting her growing feelings for Jesse kill the Riverbend project? 
How could she work in the best interest of the company her father had
built over twenty years when she was falling in love with the man who
held the key to its destruction?

"Regrets?"  her father asked, his brows raised in concern.

"About the partnership?  Absolutely not."

"I'm blessed, Tod, to have you" He paused, then said very seriously, "I
know you're having second thoughts about Riverbend.  I can't say I
blame you after seeing the way the people in the barrio have been
treated.  I want you to know I trust you implicitly.  If you feel we
should abandon the project, for whatever reason, I'll accept your
judgment."

She wrapped her arm around him.

"We're going to make this thing work.  Riverbend is a good idea.  You
wouldn't have undertaken it and you couldn't have gotten the kind of
financial backing you have if it weren't.

Sure, we've nm into a few glitches, but isn't that to be expected with
a project this size?"  Who was she trying to convince?  Her father or
herself?

She studied his face.  He suddenly looked diac our-aged, worn-out.

"Dad," she said, "I know Riverbend isn't working out the way you and
Burton envisioned it, but I think by scaling back it can still work.
Give me a little more time and I'm sure I can bring Jesse around."

"You know," he said too cheerfully, "I believe you will."  He took her
hand.

"Now, let's get to that partnership business."

"I'vE COT JUST ONE question," Lydia said as Tori and her father came
through the front door.  She smiled directly at Tori.

"How did someone find out about your partnership even before we
announced it?"  She pointed to a huge bouquet of red roses sitting on a
side table.

"Just arrived ten minutes ago.  They're addressed to you" Tori felt her
pulse quicken as she drank in their heady scent.  She removed the
still-sealed white card pinned to the crinkly green tissue paper.

"May there be more love-filled nights and days."  It was signed "Who
are they from?"  her father called out on his way to his office.

She kept her back to Lydia to hide the smile she couldn't suppress.

"Jesse Amorado."  She turned, trying to sound calm and impersonal.

"I'm always amazed at how small this town is.  You just can't keep
anything secret."

Lydia didn't seem completely convinced by the display of casualness.

"Is he coming to the signing, then?"

"He doesn't say," Tori told her, all too aware of her deception.

Right after breakfast, she tried calling him at home.

She left a message on his answering machine to call her.  He wasn't at
his office, either, so she left another message.  Then she dialed his
cell phone number.  No answer.  Finally she called the ranch, thinking
he might have stopped by there, but Elena said she hadn't seen or heard
from him since the afternoon before.

"If he contacts you before noon," Tori told her, "ask him to give me a
call, please."

"Of course, Victoria.  Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Tori assured her.

"But we're having a little ceremony to celebrate my joining my father's
company, and I thought he might like to come."

"Congratulations, Victoria.  Yes, I will tell him."

Noon approached but there wasn't any return call.

THE FORMAL SIGNING of the piece of paper marking Ton's official status
as a partner of Carr Enterprises was attended by far more people than
Tori had expected.

The mayor was there, as well as several city councilmen.  Notably
absent was Henry Martin.  So was At the appointed time, Tori took her
position at the center of a long table facing the assembly.  A tooled
maroon leather portfolio containing a single piece of parchment paper
was signed, first by her father on her fight, then Burton on her left,
and finally by Tori her-serf.

Then Winslow Carr, grinning from ear to ear, held the folder with its
red ribbon and gold seal over his head for everyone to see.  Cameras
clicked and buzzed and camcorders whirred.

Applause broke out.  Burton popped the cork on a bottle of champagne
and the three partners toasted one another and Carr Enterprises.

Caterers had set up a cold buffet of meat and cheese, fruit and relish
trays, chips and dips.  Champagne spouted in sparkling rivulets from a
fountain in the center of the long table.

Tori felt fight-headed by the excitement as guests shook her hand, many
taking time to reminisce about her years growing up in Coyote Springs.
If anyone noticed her frequent glances at the door to see if Jesse had
arrived, no one mentioned it.

He finally showed up just before two o'clock, after everyone else had
gone.

"Where were you?"  she asked, warmth suffusing her at the memory of the
night before.  She looked up, gazed at his mouth, remembered the way
his lips had touched her.

"I was in Oakdale," he said, his eyes fixed on hers.

"On a job site."  He smelled of summer and sawdust.

"I tried to reach you on your cell phone," she said, resisting a
maddening urge to reach up and stroke his cheek.

"I thought I'd only he gone for a minute, so I left it in the track,"
he explained.

"It took me longer than I expected."

He grasped her hand, rubbed its smoothness with a coarse thumb.

"Mom finally got hold of me after lunch and told me about your
partnership," he said, taking her other hand in his.

"Dad's been talking about it for some time ... but the actual paperwork
only came through yesterday.  I didn't know until this morning,.."

She was babbling.  Did he understand her ambivalence, the loyalties
tearing at her?  Her father needed her, yet... "Congratulations are in
order."  His smile was as warm as his hands.

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

"May I get you something to drink?"  she asked him.  Why was she
sounding so formal?  This wasn't some stranger she was talking to. This
was Jesse, the man she made love with last night.

"I'm afraid there's no champagne left."

He shook his head and bent close to her ear.

"Seeing you is intoxicating enough."

The comment flustered her.

"Coffee, then?  Or would you prefer something cold?"

Amusement twinkled in his eyes, twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"I definitely think I need something cold."  He leaned toward her, his
voice low and seductive.

"I may need a cold shower if you don't--" Winslow Carr chose that
moment to come out of his office.

"Mr.  Amorado, it's good to see you.  I'm sorry you weren't able to get
here sooner.  AH the food's gone, I'm afraid."

Jesse accepted the outstretched hand.

"Please call me Jesse.  I want to thank you for what you did for me
yesterday--" "Glad I could help."  They shook hands heartily.

"It's an unpleasant experience we seem to have in common, Jesse."

"As well as a common enemy."

Burton emerged quietly from his office and joined them.  He'd been
interviewed by the press earlier in the day and praised the talents
Tori was going to bring to their growing enterprise.  He was, to Ton's
mind, very much the old Burton, the charmer, the sophisticate, the
corporate team member.  If he had any lingering reservations about her
becoming a partner, or resentment over her turning down his romantic
overture, he hid them very well.

"Too bad about your problem yesterday," he said to Jesse.

Jesse shrugged.

"Congratulations on acquiring a new partner."  "Isn't she great?"
Burton enthused, and draped his arm around her shoulders, making the
hairs on the back of her neck rise.  She fried to smile to cover her
discomfort, but the scowl on Jesse's face only intensified it.

"Since we're all together," Winslow said, "why don't we sit down and
talk?"

He ushered them into his office, started toward his desk, then changed
course and pointed them to the less formal sitting area by the window.
Tori and Jesse sat next to each other on the couch, barely resisting
the temptation to hold hands.  Winslow and Burton took chairs across
the coffee table from them.

"Mr.  Amorado," Winslow started.

"Jesse.  I know we haven't seen eye to eye on the issue of Riverbend.

For that I'm truly sorry.  I can understand and, I might add, I share
your concern for Santa Marta and the people who live there."

Jesse nodded.

"Now," Winslow continued, "I'm faced with a dilemma.

As you know, I've invested heavily in the barrio and have convinced
others to do so, as well.  If I fail with Riverbend, I stand to lose
everything I've built over the past twenty years--including what's left
of my reputation.  If I succeed, I dislocate and make unhappy a lot of
people who've spent a lifetime there."

"Change is inevitable," Burton pointed out.

"Yes," Winslow agreed.

"But it should be for the better?"

No one disputed him.

"Now, about your proposal to build at Coyote Mesa---" "There's
something I think you need to know," Jesse interrupted.

"Things may be taken out of our hands."

"What do you mean?"  asked Burton, alarmed.

"In my last discussion with Martin, he said he was going to have
neglected properties in Santa Marta con-denmed to make way for public
housing."

"Public---public housing?"  Burton stammered.

"All the properties?"  Tori aSked.

"Ours, too?"

"That's what he implied.  It makes sense if you think about it," Jesse
told them.

"We both own properties that are in pretty bad shape.  It would be hard
to discriminate between them."

Tori looked at him.  The term slumlord burned in her throat.

"But public housing?"  Burton repeated, appalled.

Tori could practically see the cold shiver running down his spine.

"Can he do that?"  she asked the group at large.

Her father sat with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his
hands steepled aS in prayer, his index fingers tapping against his
lips.

Burton kept shaking his head in disbelief.

"The city council haS been discussing the need for additional public
housing in Coyote Springs for years," he explained.

"But they've never been able to settle on a site.  Whenever somebody
proposes building in an established neighborhood, the people who live
there complain that it will devalue their properties.  When a
completely new site outside town is suggested, the potential residents
complain it's too far from their jobs.

The city shudders at the idea of having to expand public
transportation."

"That's one reason why your suggestion of building new low-cost housing
at Coyote Mesa has serious problems," Winslow pointed out to Jesse.

"Martin," said Breton, "has always been one of the loudest opponents of
public housing.  I wonder what's made him change his mind."

"He wasn't figured into the equation," Winslow said thoughtfully.

"I should have considered the effect this project was going to have on
him?"

"But getting the council to agree to public housing's going to take
more than his endorsement, isn't it?"

asked Tod.

"Oh, he can't do it by decree or by himself," her father assured her.

"So it isn't going to happen overnight.

But he can certainly bring Riverbend to a screeching halt if he comes
out strongly in favor of public housing in Santa Marta."

"As far as I can see," Jesse commented, "if Martin succeeds in pulling
off this latest stunt, everybody loses.  Even if we get reasonable
compensation for our properties, which I doubt, we'll both take a
licking financially."

He looked at the senior man.

"Especially Carr Enterprises.  But Santa Marta loses, too.  There'S a
world of difference between public housing and low-income housing.  I
want people to have access to affordable homes, something they can own
and take pride in, not feel themselves the wards of some bureaucratic
system, indebted to some rotten politician."

"What are we going to do?"  TOd asked, avoiding the question on
everybody's mind.

"Bargain with him:" Winslow said.

"Find out what he really wants.  I agree with Jesse.  This is just a
ploy.

Let's not forget Martin's a businessman as well as a politician."

"Exactly," Burton agreed.

"We'll just have to deal with him on that level.  I'll handle it."

"What would you use to convince him to change his mind?"  Tori asked.

"The only two things that matter.  Money and power.

Whether he gets Riverbend or public housing, his constituency is going
to change.  It's to his advantage to go with the Riverbend crowd.  They
can contribute a hell of a lot more to his coffers than a bunch of
paupers on the public dole."

Tori shook her head.

"That approach might have worked a week ago, but not now.  He burned
some bridges when he had Dad arrested.  He knows he's not going to get
any more fees out of us.  Chances are other outfits are rethinking
their arrangements with him, too."

She got up and paced the floor.

"No, Martin's right.

He's blown his chance to gain support from the upper-income bracket in
Riverbend.  Power is more important to him than money, if he really
believes Santa Marta is past saving, his only other option is public
housing.  I think he's a crafty enough politician to convince whatever
low-income groups move into his district that he's their champion."

"So what have you got in mind?"  Burton asked.

"Nothing yet," she replied.

"But I am sure of one thing.  The answer's not in compromising with
Martin.

It's in defeating him."

"WE NEW Dm HAVE those chalupas last night," Jesse commented to Tod a
short while later as they stood in the parking lot between their two
vehicles.

"Are you hungry?"

She smiled at the recollection of their time together.

"No breakfast, either."  The smoldering fire in Jesse's eyes suggested
his thoughts were running along the same lines.

"Yeah, I'm hungry.  In all the glad-handing and talking, I never even
got a taste of the food on the buffet."

His eyes were devouring her.

"I know just the place to get the best chalupas in Spring County."

That could only mean one place, Tori decided.  What bachelor didn't
think his mother's cooking was the best in the world?

"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse."

He skimmed a finger up her arm.

"Good."

"Do we need reservations?"

"I have no reservations."  His finger reached her shoulder and began to
skitter across her collarbone.

"Me, neither."  Her heart was racing.

"Sounds like we'll just have to take our chances."

"Together," Jesse whispered, his lips a breath away from hers,
"Togeth--" But she had to swallow the rest of the word when his mouth
closed over hers.

Tori CAR in the parking lot and went with Jesse in his truck to the
Amorado ranch.  She breathed in the winter wood scent of his aftershave
and admired his regal profile.  She detected boyish embarrassment in
the curve of his lips as he sensed her scrutiny.

He glanced over.

"Is something the matter?"

"Just looking."

An eight-year-old red Ford Escort was parked beside

Lupe's even older Chevy when they arrived at the little house.

"Espy's car," Jesse commented.

"What's she doing here?"

"I guess we'll find out," he said, annoyance ringing in his words.

Elena was teary-eyed when she saw Jesse.  She pressed his cheeks
between her hands the way she would with a small child.  But then, Tori
reflected, he would always be her little boy.

"I was so afraid!"  She cried.

"It's okay, Mom," Jesse said, uncomfortable with his mother's anxiety.
He drew her hands away gently and held them between his own.

"I'm fine."

Elena nodded, and a new tear cascaded down her cheek.  Jesse brushed it
away and kissed the top of her head.  Elena hugged him tightly.  A
minute later she threw her arms around Tori, as well.  Tori hugged her
back, moved by the woman's caress.  It had been years since she'd
experienced that kind of maternal contact.

It brought unexpected tears to her eyes.  She caught a glimpse of Jesse
smiling at theft embrace, a smile of approval and contentment.

"Hey, Mom," he interrupted lightly, "whatcha got to eat around here? We
haven't had lunch yet and we're starved."

Elena wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Just like a man," she said to Tori.

"Always thinking about his stomach."

Tori looked quickly at Jesse and had to stifle a chuckle.  The brief
eye contact they shared, however, wasn't fast enough to get by Mrs.
Amorado.

"Come on, you two," she said with a lilt, "I think stood in the parking
lot between their two "Are you hungry?"

She smiled at the recollection of their time "No breakfast, either."
The smoldering eyes suggested his thoughts were running same lines.

"Yeah, I'm hungry.  In all the ing, I never even got a taste of the
food on the His eyes were devouring her.

"I know just the to get the best chalupas in Spring County."

That could only mean one place, Tori decided bachelor didn't think his
mother's cooking in the world?

"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse."

He skimmed a finger up her arm.

"Good.," "Do we need reservations?"

"I have no reservations."  His finger shoulder and began to skitter
across her "Me, neither."  Her heart was racing.

we'll just have to take our chances."

"Together," Jesse whispered, his lips a breath from hers.

"Togeth---" But she had to swallow the rest.

word when his mouth closed over hers.

Tori LEFT her CAR in the parking lot and Jesse in his truck to the
Amorado ranch.

in the winter wood scent of his aftershave his regal profile.  She
detected the curve of his lips as he sensed her scrutiny.

He glanced over.

"Is something the matter?"

"Just looking."

An eight-year-old red Ford Escort was

Lupe's even older Chevy when they arrived at the little house.

"Espy's car," Jesse commented.

"What's she doing here?"

"I guess we'll find out," he said, annoyance ringing in his words.

Elena was teary-eyed when she saw Jesse.  She pressed his cheeks
between her hands the way she would with a small child.  But then, Tori
reflected, he would always be her little boy.

"I was so afraid!"  she cried.

"It's okay, Mom," JesSe said, uncomfortable with his mother's anxiety.
He drew her hands away gently and held them between his own.

"I'm fine."

Elena nodded, and a new tear cascaded down her cheek.  Jesse brushed it
away and kissed the top of her head.  Elena hugged him tightly.  A
minute later she threw her arms around Tori, as well.  Tori hugged her
back, moved by the woman's caress.  It had been years since she'd
experienced that kind of maternal contact.

It brought unexpected tears to her eyes.  She caught a glimpse of Jesse
smiling at their embrace, a smile of approval and contentment.

"Hey, Mom," he interrupted lightly, "whatcha got to eat around here? We
haven't had lunch yet and we're starved."

Elena wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Just like a man," she said to Tori.

"Always thinking about his stomach."

Tori looked quickly at Jesse and had to stifle a chuckle.  The brief
eye contact they shared, however, wasn't fast enough to get by Mrs.
Amorado.

"Come on, you two," she said with a lilt, "I think

 what you both need is some of my me nudo Muy caliente.

' The three of them walked up to the house, Jesse between the two most
important women in his life, each tucked lovingly under a protective
ann.

Lupe and Espy were standing on the small porch as they approached.

"How are you?"  Lupe asked Jesse.

"I'm fine.  Thanks for your help yesterday."

"That's what families are for."  Lupe turned to Tori.

"You're the one who really deserves the thanks.  Much as gracias." 
Lupe kissed her softly on the cheek.

The sincerity of the emotion and the sense of family overwhelmed
Tori.

"What brings you out here?"  Jesse asked Espy, who was standing back a
few feet from the group.

"I ... I just wanted to say I hope you got your ... misunderstanding
with Martin worked out."

"There was no misunderstanding about it," he told her.

"He insulted Tori and I punched him out."

Espy stared at him, tight-lipped.

A rush of heat warmed Ton's cheeks.  She shouldn't feel smug.  Being
the cause of Jesse's legal trouble ought to make her feel guilty, but
there was a primitive satisfaction in being the object of such
impetuosity.  She looked up to see Lupe smiling at her.

"Just so you know I had nothing to do with it," Espy responded,
apparently oblivious to the other women's reactions.

"I never supposed you did," Jesse told her.

"Has Martin dropped the charges?"

"No.  I'm just lucky to have friends willing to help me."  EsPY lowered
her eyes and said nothing.

The children came over from playing along the side of the garage.
Miguelito's greeting was considerably less exuberant than it had been
on their last visit.  Even Teresita seemed reserved.

"What's the matter, amigo?"  Jesse asked his nephew.

"You look like you just lost your best friend."

"We're not going to Sea World or Fiesta Texas."

"How come?"  Jesse asked very seriously.

"Because of you?  The boy's eyes blazed.

"Me?"

"Grandma said we couldn't go because you were in---"

"We couldn't go and leave you" Elena hastened to point out.

"That was yesterday.  There's no reason why you can't go now."

Miguelito brightened instantly.

"We can?  Really?"

He dragged Teresita by the hands and they began to dance around in
circle.

"We're going to Sea World.

We're going to Sea World."

"But, Jesse---" Elena began to object

"Everything's okay, Ma.  Don't disappoint the kids.

They've been looking forward to the trip for so long."

"We're going to Sea World," Teresita chimed in as she skipped around
with her brother.

Jesse grinned happily.

"And to see Shamu.  You can't forget Shamu."

"But, Jesse---"

"No buts about it," he insisted.

"Go.  It'll do you good.  Lupe hasn't seen her sister in months."

"You can go with the children," Elena said to her daughter-in-law.

"I will stay."

"No, you won't," Jesse said with loving intransigence.

"You need a break, to get away from here."

"Do you think I will not worry in San Antonio?"

"It's hard to worry," he told her with an easy grin, "when you're
watching Sharnu the whale."  He sat on the porch step and lifted
Teresita onto his knee.

"Or feeding dolphins out of your hand," he told the child playfully. He
tickled her on the side of her rib cage, eliciting a squirming giggle
that drove her deeper against his chest.

"Muy bien."  Elena finally conceded, to the children's delight.

"But you can reach us at Anita's if something happens."

"Nothing's going to happen," Jesse assured her.

"Now, go get packed."

"We already are," Lupe pointed out.

"I never got around to unpacking yesterday."

"Well, then, I'll load the car for you and you can be on your way."

"Can I help?"  Miguelito asked his uncle.

"You bet, amigo."  Jesse rumpled the boy's straight black hair.

"Not until you two have eaten," Elena insisted to her son and Tori.

Espy had been silent, motionless, an outsider during the exchange.  Now
she looked around, trying to find something to say.

"How long are you going to be away?"

/ "About a week," Lupe replied.

"Should be fun."

"Come sit down and eat with us," Elena invited Espy.

"I have a pot of me nudo--" "No, thanks.  I have to get going."  She
hurried away, only belatedly turning to wave and call out, "Have a good
time in San Antonio."

She was gone before they could say goodbye.

"What was that all about?"  Tori asked.

"Damned if I know," Jesse replied.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THOUGHTS OF ESPY soon faded.  Elena bustled around serving generous
bowls of spicy hot tripe stew with flour tortillas.  She offered to
make chalupas or nachos, as well, but Jesse and Tori gave in only to
the offer of puffy light ,mpapillas smothered with wild sage honey.

They smiled lustfully at each other as they licked the sweet syrup from
their fingers.

Half an hour later Jesse loaded the luggage, checked the oil and tires
and instructed his sister-in-law to call him at home as soon as they
arrived.  With arms around each other's waists, Tori and Jesse watched
Lupe's Chevy pull out of the driveway, heading south toward San
Antonio, Sea World and Fiesta Texas.  Grandma and grandkids were
singing happily in anticipation of their coming adventure.

"It'll take me just a few minutes to close up the place," Jesse told
Tori.

"Then we can be on our way, too."

Over his objections, she volunteered to wash the dishes while he picked
up a few toys that had been left outside.  She enjoyed observing him
through the open window as he meandered across the yard to the garage
to check on the door's lock and hasp and the windows on the sides.  He
bent over and checked the two-by-four wedged under the handles of the
storm cellar door.

Jesse Amorado was very much at home here, comfortable in his role as
head of the family.  She could imagine him growing older--very
gracefully--his black hair becoming salted with gray, then turning
alabaster white.  She pictured him, strong even in old age, surrounded
with children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, the benevolent
patriarch of a happy, protected clan.

They said little on the trip back to the city until they approached
Carr Enterprises.  Her discussion with her father that morning kept
niggling at the corners of her mind.  The Riverbend project wasn't just
a matter of saving Carr Enterprises at the expense of Santa Marta
anymore.  It meant promoting a company that had failed in its moral
responsibility to the people there.  It meant losing Jesse.

The best compromise appeared to be the scaled-down Riverbend she'd
suggested.  But she couldn't ignore the counter arguments they didn't
have either the time to modify their plans before options ran out or
the money to start over again.  A refocused Riverbend seemed as fatal
to Carr Enterprises as no Riverbend at all.

Jesse pulled up alongside her Corvette, shut off the engine and turned
to her.

"Are you coming over to my place later?"  He released his seat belt and
slid toward her.

"I don't know," she said.

"I want to, but---" "But what?"  he mumbled, his lips featherlight
against hers, tempting, promising.

She pressed her palms against his hard chest and felt his heartbeat.

"I've got a lot of thinking to do--."

"We can do it together."

She grinned.

"I'm afraid what we'll do together won't be thinking.  Certainly not
very objectively."

"To hell with objectivity," he said in a deep bass.

Lifting a hand to his face, she absorbed the warmth of his skin beneath
the five o'clock stubble.

"Objectivity might be the best thing for us right now."

"The best thing for me," he said, burying a kiss in the crook of her
neck, "is you.  You're all I need."  He lifted her hand and kissed the
palm.

"But if you're not sure..."

Was she sure?  She thought she was.  She climbed out of the truck,
slammed the door, then stuck her head through the window.

"I'll be over later."

"I'll be waiting," he said, and watched her walk to her car.

AFTER CHECKING at the office, Tori decided it was her turn to supply
the food for dinner whether they ate it or not.  How did Jesse like his
steaks?  she wondered.

For no logical reason, she decided he was a medium-rare sort of guy.
Wine.  Did he like wine?  Tradition said red wine with red meat.  She
doubted he felt bound by such conventions, but she couldn't picture him
holding a glass of white, much less pink, wine.

She drove to the liquor store at the far end of North Travis and chose
a cabernet sanvignon from one of the oldest wineries in Texas.  She
took the salesman's word that it was a prizewinner.

Next stop, the custom meat section of the supermarket.

She ordered two well-marbled sirloin steaks, thickly cut and carefully
trimmed.  Then she picked out a couple of large baking potatoes and a
variety of salad makings.  On an impulse, she selected an avocado as an
appetizer.

I WONDER HOW SHE LIKE8 her steaks, Jesse mused as he drove away from
Carr Enterprises.  Medium rare, he

 decided.  Just like he did.  Wine.  He liked a hearty red, but she
might prefer white.  In his experience, most women did.

Since only beer could be bought in town, he went to the liquor store on
South Travis just outside city limits, where he pondered the vast
variety of fancy-sounding wines they offered.  He chose a chardonnay
he'd thought particularly good when he sampled it several months before
at a wine tasting.  In her world travels Tori had undoubtedly drunk all
kinds of exotic wines.  Probably none from East Texas, though.

He also stopped off at a small butcher shop in Santa Marta not far from
his house, where the family had been doing business for as long as he
could remember.

The proprietor was a small, pear-shaped man in his seventies, with
snow-white hair and a face of timeworn leather.

"Ah," he intoned when Jesse told him what he wanted.  He twirled his
majestically curled mustache.

"Your friend is visiting this evening."  He used the feminine form of
the Spanish word for friend.

Jesse smiled, not surprised by the man's perspicacity.

The barrio was a small community, and as Jesse was an eligible
bachelor, the neighbors were inclined to keep track of his female
visitors.  Of course Ton's bright red sports car wasn't exactly
inconspicuous.

"That's why this has to be a very good steak."

"You think I would give you a bad one otherwise?"

the old man chided.

Jesse laughed.

"Of course not.  That's why I came here."

The butcher chuckled, a conspiratorial grin under

generous snowy brows.

"I have something just a little special for you and the pretty
seorita."

He trimmed a thick beef tenderloin.

"Juanita Perez is moving this weekend," he commented.

"She's lived here all her life and in the same house for nearly
thirty-five years.  Her husband built it himself right after they were
married."

A familiar tale, Jesse thought.

"Where's she going?"

"To live with her daughter in Oakdale.  A few other members of the
family have moved there over the years."

"How about you?  Are you holding out against Riv-erbend?"

The old man shrugged.

"I thought about it, but so many of our people are moving away.  One of
my sons has a restaurant near the courthouse.  He does a good lunchtime
business and has asked me to come help him out.  It will be a kind of
semiretirement."

Jesse knew the place well.  It had started as a typical storefront
restaurant, expanded into the shop next door and now boasted an outdoor
patio, as well.

"I can spend more time with my grandchildren that way," he said with
fondness.

"I'm glad things are working out for you" Jesse said, relieved the old
man didn't seem depressed at the prospect of leaving the neighborhood
he'd lived in his entire life.  Was this the popular view, that the
barrio was obsolete?

"Did you get a good price for this place?"

The old man laughed.

"Very good.  I expected one day to close the door and just walk away.
None of my sons or grandsons is interested in cutting meat and standing
behind a counter all day like me.  One of my nephews negotiated for me.
He's a good business- mail."  The butcher weighed two filets mignons on
a balancing scale that might have been as old as he was, then carefully
wrapped them in white butcher paper.

"They have some nice fresh shrimp next door today," he told Jesse as he
made change from the sale.

"The ladies sometimes like a little shrimp cocktail before the main
course."  His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Jesse grinned.

"Good idea.  Much as gracias, seor."  When he got home, Jesse spent a
few minutes tidying up.  He and Tori had left in such haste that
morning, the place looked like a teenager's room instead of the neat
house he took pride in.  He was arranging a charcoal pyramid in the
barbecue out back when the doorbell rang.

"Hi," Tori said when he opened the front door.  She brought with her a
subtle scent of freshly cut flowers.

He wanted to throw his arms around her.  Instead, he got an armload of
packages.

"What's all this?"  he asked as he followed her to the kitchen and
placed the groceries on the kitchen table.

"Dinner," she announced.

"Sirloin and san vi-gnon."

"Oh."  Disappointment lurked in his voice.

She turned around, an eyebrow arched.

"I got us filets and chardonnay," he explained.

She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip.

"Ore, at minds think alike."

He snaked his arms around her waist, his lips a fraction of an inch
from hers.

"How about an appetizer?"

"I bought an avocado."

His lips toyed with hers.

"Not exactly what I had in mind."

The kiss was slow and deep.  When at last they paused long enough to
catch their breath, she muttered, "Are you hungry?"

"Hmm, yes, very."  He slid his hands up her back, his upper arms
brushing the sides of her breasts.

"And you?"

"Ravenous," she murmured, and touched her mouth to his.

IT WAS AFTER EIGHT o'clock by the time Tori arrived home the next
morning, once again to change clothes.

Her father wasn't there this time and, looking in his bedroom, she
noticed his bed hadn't been slept in.  He must have spent the night
with Lydia, she concluded with a grin.

"Where's Dad?"  Tori asked when she reached the office.  Lydia, usually
so calm and efficient, looked downright harried this morning.

"He's meeting with investors.  Apparently word's out that Martin's
threatening to condemn our properties as well as Amorado's so he can
build public housing."

"Oh, Lord."

Lydia compressed her lips.

"Your father's decided to officially kick off Riverhend tomorrow at
noon.  He's got me working on setting up a signing ceremony with major
contractors and builders.  He wants the mayor and the city council here
like they were when we announced your partnership."

Tori poured herself coffee, wishing it was caffeinated

"Isn't this rushing things?  Why so fast?"

"He's afraid any delay will give Martin more time and ammunition to get
his agenda approved."  Lydia declined an offer to refill her cup.

"I don't know what we're going to do if this Amorado property business
hasn't been settled by then."

Neither did Tod.  Thinking she still had time, she hadn't actually
discussed her Riverbend modification idea with Jesse the night before.
But while they were preparing dinner, he'd made several allusions to
Santa Matra, how it was changing and people were moving out.  If she
capitalized on his awareness that the barrio was inevitably evolving,
perhaps she could convince him to sell.

"When do you expect Dad back?"

"Probably not until lunchtime."

"Is Burton with him?"

"No.  He had another meeting to go to.  I'm not sure who with, but he
said he expected to be back by ten."

"I'm going to call Jesse and ask him to come over here.  I want a
conference with him and Burton.  Just the three of us.  Let's plan on
ten-thirty.  Hopefully, we can get this thing resolved by the lime Dad
returns."

"I hope so."

Tori thought a moment.  Her newly improvised office was too small and
cluttered for a comfortable meeting.

"I'm going to use Dad's office, so would you--" "Of course," Lydia
replied before Tori could finish.

"I'll have the conference table cleared off and a fresh pot of coffee
made.  Do you want me to call out for sandwiches?"

"No.  Just coffee.  And make it strong.  Very strong."

JESSE WAS THE FIRST to arrive.  He'd been surprised by the invitation
but hardly mystified.  He knew sooner or later they'd have to deal with
the issue of Santa Marta.

His predicament was preposterous.  First Carr threatened condemnation,
then Martin.  Either way his properties seemed doomed.  The irony was
that in any other situation he'd be in an enviable position with two
competing interests vying for properties that were virtually worthless
except for their locations.  The way things were stacking up now, he
would be on the losing side no matter who won.  So would the people of
Santa Marta.

Hazlitt was standing by Lydia's desk, handing her a sheaf of papers,
when Jesse walked in.

"Oh, Mr.  Amorado," she greeted him nervously.

"Right on time.  I'm afraid there's going to be a slight delay.  Tori
had to run over to the newspaper office---" "She's trying to straighten
out some screw up on her advertising campaign."  Hazlitt looked over at
Jesse.

"This might be an opportune time for us to talk privately."

Jesse wasn't interested in talking one-on-one with Hazlitt, but didn't
see how he could politely refuse.  He followed the stocky weightlifter
to his office.  Looking at the stark black-and-white art on the walls,
Jesse concluded the room was as cold as the man.  Hazlitt waved to a
black-leather-and-chrome chair, then sat in an oversize version behind
the glass-topped desk.

Hazlitt swiveled toward him and leaned back, lacing his fingers across
his stomach.

"You think you're in a position to kill the Riverbend project," he
began, "and that you can save Santa Marta.  I'm sorry, but you're wrong
on both counts, Amorado."

"You mean because of Henry Martin's plan to build public housing
there?"

"I just had a long talk with Henry," Hazlitt replied.

"He's come to realize the barrio's beyond hope.  He also knows the
success of our development is in his own best interest.  So he's agreed
to support it."

Jesse couldn't hide his surprise.

"He's changed his mind again?  He's supporting Riverbend now?"

Hazlitt nodded, pleased with himself.

"As I see it, Amorado, You still have two choices--you can sell to us
before the construction contracts get signed ... or you can be
obstinate and get those shacks of yours condemned by the city."

Jesse cursed silently to himself but refused to give this muscle-bound
twerp with the Napoleon complex :

the satisfaction of hearing the expletives.

"We've already made our offer," Hazlitt reminded him.

"Frankly, I don't see that you have much choice.

You'd do well to get this thing over and done with."

He eyed Jesse for a reaction but got none.  Showing his first bit of
impatience, he added, "Lydia has the paperwork made out.  All you have
to do is sign."

Tori appeared in the doorway.  One look at Jesse was enough for her to
sense something was wrong.

"What's going on?"

Jesse rose to his feet.

Hazlitt remained seated.  ,"I was just trying to convince your friend
here to sign on the dotted line," "What about Martin's plan to put in
public housing?"

Jesse asked.

"Actually, I think it was just a tactic to get us talking."

Hazlitt looked self-satisfied.

"We discussed your situation, too, Amorado.  He's not very happy with
you at the moment, as you can imagine.  But he's willing to put
personal feelings aside today, just as I was a couple of days ago."

"I don't understand."

"Didn't Tori tell you?  I put up your bail money."

"I thought Cam" "Spooner works for Carr Enterprises, but it was my
money that bought the bond."

Jesse felt as if he'd just been rammed in the solar plexus.  He looked
at Tori.

"Is that true?"

"Well ... a little cash-flow problem.  He loaned the money..."

"Look," Hazlitt said as he got up, "why don't I leave you two alone to
work out the details.  ToWs a partner now.  She can speak for the
company.  There's really no reason we can't get this settled today."
Smiling, he left the room.

"I'm sorry," Tori managed to say, then froze at the expression of
outrage and disappointment on Jesse's face.

"I should have told you."

Jesse rose to his feet.

"I came here willing to make concessions, Tori, fully aware my position
is that of a spoiler, a role I don't relish."  She watched a vein in
his temple throb.

"I don't take easily to threats and bullying," he continued, "or being
played with.  Maybe I can't save Santa Marta, but by God, I won't let
you get rich at its expense."

"Jesse, wait.  You don't understand---" But it was no use.

Dragging in a lungful of air, he glowered at her and walked out of the
room.

Torn REMAINED AT THE conference table for several minutes trying to
fathom what had just transpired.  Confusion soon gave way to anger.
Anger at herself for not having been completely honest with Jesse, at
Burton ... well, for being Burton, and at Jesse for having so little
faith in her.

 E

She stepped into the reception area.

"When's Dod due back?"

"He called when you were in your meeting.  He's having lunch at the
country club with Bill Rosenkrantz from the bank.  Apparently one of
the builders declared bankruptcy.  Your father and Bill are reviewing
their options."

"Damn, what else can go wrong?"  Tori fumed.

"Who's gone under?"

"Slater-Grasse."

Tori recognized the name from contracts she'd reviewed as one of
several out-of-state custom-home builders.

"Well, if there's a silver lining in this dark cloud, it's that they
folded now rather than in the middle of construction."

JESSE went BACK to the building site he had been overseeing the day
before.  Hard work, dealing with construction crews and making
decisions was what he needed to feel in control again.

The location was a cul-de-sac on the west side of town.  His father had
bought the lots cheap seven years earlier, confident the city's
development was moving in that direction.  He was right.

Jesse inspected the workmanship carefully, reviewing progress.  But
even while he discussed details with the site foreman, he kept seeing
the shocked no, hurt---expression on Toffs face when he walked out of
Hazlitt's office that morning.

"Hey, Tony, that's the wrong wallpaper in the master bathroom," he
called out as he surveyed the job.

"It's supposed to be different from the guest bath.  Get it changed."

When that stuffed shirt of a lawyer got him released from jail, Jesse
figured Carr would expect some son of repayment.  But the subject had
never been brought up and Jesse had begun to wonder if Tori was right,
that Winslow Carr was not the mercenary Jesse thought him to be.  Now
he knew differently.  Carr hadn't demanded his pound of flesh because
he Wasn't in the position to---he hadn't been the one who paid the
bail.

"Tony, whoever did the raised paneling in the family room did a nice
job.  Let him know I said so.  Good work."

But something still didn't sit right.  Hazlitt's style was strictly
in-your-face, like this morning's meeting.

Why had Hazlitt waited so long to use the hail as leverage?

The time to make a deal for Jesse to turn over his Santa Marta
properties would have been when he was still behind bars.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Torn FOLLOWED HER FATHER into the office when he returned from lunch.

"Dad, we need to talk."

Winslow moved hurriedly to his desk and started riffling through
papers.

"I agree.  We've got to get this last property issue with Jesse Amomdo
settled.  Today."

"Have you heard the news?  But Tori persuaded Martin to support
Riverbend."

Her father stood hunched over his desk and looked up at her.

"Henry's on our side now?"

Tori wondered why her father didn't seem to be overjoyed by the
politician's change of heart.

"That man does more twists and roms than a python.

Okay, let's take advantage of it.  I want as much media coverage as we
can get--with Martin a prominent part of it so he can't change his mind
later."

"Everything's all set," she told him.

"I've arranged for newspaper articles and ads, and I have calls in to
schedule interviews on radio and TV.  All I have to do now is get hold
of Martin.  Lydia said you wanted to kick it off here tomorrow."

Winslow looked up again.

"Getting Martin's support is a big plus, but we need to have Jesse on
board, too--" he picked up a piece of paper, scanned it and threw it
back down "---to show there's no controversy in the community, that
everyone's a player.  The question now is, can you get him on our side
by tomorrow?"  "I think I can.  That's what--" Burton appeared in the
doorway, a huge grin on his face.

Winslow stopped what he was doing long enough to address him.

"I understand you talked Martin into supporting us.  Good work."

"I told you I would."  Burton strutted over to a wing chair by the
conference area, winking at Tori as he passed.  He sat down and crossed
one knee over the other.

"I heard a rumor that one of our contractors dropped out of the
project."

Winslow sank into his chair, exhausted.

"Slater-Orasse declared bankruptcy this morning."

"Damn?"  Burton said, pounding his fist on the chair arm.

"We don't have anyone lined up to replace them, either."  He looked at
Tori.

"Slater-Orasse is a multi-million-dollar corporation.  I had no idea
they were in any kind of financial trouble."

"Apparently," Winslow said, "they were counting on Riverbend to keep
their heads above water."  He slanted Tori a grin.

"No pun intended."

Tori smiled back, taking it as a good sign that her father still had
his sense of humor.  She considered a moment, then asked, "Suppose we
offer their building contract to Jesse?"

But Tori brows rose.

"Give it to Amorado Construction?"

"It's got a couple of advantages," Tori explained.

"If we go with Riverbend as currently designed, he'll be in a position
to make a lot of money so he can follow through on his Coyote Mesa
plans, if we go with the scaled-down version I suggested, he's
ideally

 suited for the lower- and middle-income houses we'd want to build."

"I always prefer dealing with local companies when

I can," Winslow said slowly.  He picked up his mechanical pencil and
started drumming it on the folders in front of him as he stared blankly
at his daughter.

"Amorado does good work, Tori, but his outfit's pretty small.  I'm not
sure he can handle a project this size."

Tori felt a flutter of hope.  Neither of them had rejected her
suggestion outright.

"I don't know if he can,

either, Dad.  What I do know is that if he accepts the contract, he'll
do everything in his power to live up to its provisions."

Her father continued to tap his pencil.

"Give him a chance," she urged.

"When Jesse made his Coyote Mesa proposal, he asked us for what
amounted to several million dollars in subsidies.  It was a bluff, but
I'm positive he felt he could handle it if by some remote chance he got
it."

"So he was blowing smoke," Burton said, but with a note of admiration
rather than censure.

"Let him prove himself."

Burton knitted his brows in thought.

"We could start him off small, see how he does and then increase his
involvement as he grows.  The other advantage is that we will have a
full complement of builders present when we sign the contracts
tomorrow."

"Knowing Jesse's reputation for hard work and integrity he might even
like this approach better," Win slow said with an approving nod.  He
turned to his daughter.

"Will he go for it?"

"A week ago he probably would have, but after all this talk about
condemning his property, getting Arrested, and now Burton throwing in
his face that he paid the bail..."

"He's still a businessman," Burton observed mildly.

"He's a proud man first," she reminded him.  The image of him in his
jail-rumpled clothes came instantly to mind.  Strange, she thought,
that it should be that picture that came to mind when she thought of
male pride, a man undaunted by social conventions.

Winslow smiled.

"Discuss it with him, Tori.  You're both fight.  He's a businessman and
a realist, and at the moment he's in a no-win situation.  This might be
his way out."

IT WASN'T UNTIL nearly two hours later, as she was gathering her notes,
that Tori finally figured it out.

Lydia and her father had already left for the day.

She tapped on But Tori door and, without waiting for a response, walked
in.  Planting herself comfortably in the chair across from him, she
asked, "When did you say you talked Martin into sanctioning the
Riverbend project?"

Burton smiled.

"I don't think I said."

"You didn't talk to him at all, did you?"

The smirk on Bur Tori face answered her question.

"I called Martin's office to invite him to the ceremony tomorrow and
found out he isn't in town and isn't expected back for at least two
more days.  They wouldn't say where he was, but Evie Clump over at the
Chamber told me he's been hiding out on a friend's ranch until his
broken nose heals."

Tori straightened out the hem of her yellow cotton skirt.

"If I can find out Martin hasn't been in town since the day before
yesterday, don't you think Jesse can, tooT'

"The question is, will he?  Are you going to tell him?"

"I'm not going to lie to him, Burton.  I'm no good at telling lies.
They always come back to haunt me.

Besides, I have neither the need nor desire to lie to him."

But Tori features softened, reminding her of the man she'd once thought
she loved, a man who could be tender and solicitous.

"I know that, Tori.  That's why I've played the heavy on this one.
You're in love with him.  Anyone can see that.  I'm glad for you.  I
really am.  Unfortunately, that's not very good for business."

He chuckled.

"Well, for some people it is.  But I know you too well to think you
would use it as a weapon."

He arched back in his chair, took a deep breath and exhaled, obviously
content.

"Business isn't like chess, Tori.  In chess all the moves are out in
the open and you have only to recognize them.  Business is more like
poker, where you only see some of the cards and you win mostly by
ruse.

My tactics may seem underhanded to you.  But remember, the other side
has the same weapons available.  It's a matter of who uses them
better."

He'd used the same analogy years before, when he was aglow from having
just been made her father's partner.  At the time, they'd seemed like
words of wisdom.

"You admitted yourself that Amorado didn't really expect us to go along
with his Coyote Mesa demands," Burton noted.

"It was a tactic, Tori, and a good one.  I'm willing to bet he goes for
your general contractor offer.  He'd be a fool not to."

"So you were bluffing about Martin supporting Riverbend and
threatening to condemn Jesse's properties if he doesn't cooperate with
us."  Tori frowned.

Burton spread his hands, palms up.

"I don't know if Martin really meant what he said to Amorado about
condemning our properties to build public housing or if Jesse made that
up, too.  I do know two things.  Martin's power is in the Mexican
community.  He'd think twice about taking on Carr Enterprises if he
didn't have Amorado to use as a wedge."

Burton reached out and toyed with the sterling silver letter opener on
his desk, his words confident and sincere.

"Whether Martin puts in public housing or we develop Riverbend, Tori,
the barrio is gone.  Amorado is smart enough to realize that.  Once he
comes to his senses and acknowledges that, I'm sure he'll join us.

You see, I think he's as interested in making money as the rest of us.
If he wants to develop Coyote Mesa, fine.  I certainly have no
objection.  Who knows, we might even be able to make a deal with him on
that project, too."

Tori left shaking her head.  All this male posturing seemed such a
waste of time and energy.

She went back to her office and called Jesse at home.

His answering machine picked up.  She hesitated about leaving a
message, not quite sure what to say.

"Jesse, I'm sorry about the way things went this morning.  I'll explain
it all when I see you."  She paused and was about to add, "I love you"
when the machine clicked off.

Burton stuck his head in her office doorway a few minutes later.

"Go to him, Tori," he said with the encouragement of a sympathetic
friend.

"Tell him whatever you think is best for both of us.  But don't take
too long."  He smiled.

"I'll see you in the morning."

She wished him a good-night, promised she'd up and returned to her
office.  There was plenty of work to do and even more thinking.  Had
she misjudged Burton?  Was she naive about the business world?

There was no doubt Burton had been using her.  Was Jesse?  She pulled
several files from Lydia's filing cabinet.

Her mind was again on Jesse as she finished the last bitter cup of
hours-old coffee, washed out the pot, turned the key in the front door
and strolled to her car.

The sun was setting, and the air, still warm from the day's heat,
gathered around her like Jesse's caress.

The Corvette, locked in the sun all day, would be stifling.  Luckily it
was only a short drive to Jesse's house.

No steak tonight, she decided as she approached the vehicle in the
private parking space behind the building.  I wonder if great minds
will think alike again.  I'll stop off at the deli and pick up a roast
chicken and salad.

She was just leaning over to unlock the door when she caught the
glimpse of a shadow behind her.  She started to turn when an ann came
down and struck her on the head.

JESSE FOUND TWO MESSAGES on his answering machine when he arrived home.
The first was from Lupe, calling from San Antonio to say they'd arrived
without mishap.

He could hear the children laughing and yelling in the background and
his mother, closer to Lupe, reminding her to make sure Jesse had
Anita's telephone number.

"Relax, Ma," he said to the tiny speaker.

"Nothing's going to happen."

The second was the message from Tori.  He knew she couldn't have been
part of that stupid charade this morning.  They would get the whole
ridiculous business straightened out this evening and then they'd make
love...?  Or maybe they should make love first.

He'd almost proposed to her in bed that morning, but something in her
eyes told him it wasn't time yet.

He knew she loved him.  She'd whispered it in his ear often enough, and
no woman could give herself to a man the way she did without loving
him.

As he moved through the house, setting things out for the barbecued
chicken dinner he'd brought home, his mind kept reliving the night
before.  While his hands were putting out soft, fresh hath towels, his
mind fantasized about the supple texture of her skin, the full, firm
warmth of her breasts.  His body responded even now to the memory of
her caressing him, of her soft, wet mouth en flaming him.

He spent some of the time waiting for her on the back porch refinishing
a piece of old furniture he'd picked up in a junk store several months
earlier.  The small writing table would fit perfectly in the hallway.

The work took concentration, but by ten o'clock he was hovering over
the telephone, getting ready to call her house to ask where she was,
why she wasn't in his arms, in his bed.  First, needing the reassurance
of hearing her voice, he replayed the tape.  With a sinking feeling in
the pit of his stomach, he replayed it a second time.  Fool, he
chastised himself.  She never said she was coming tonight, only that
she would explain things when she saw you.  She'd said it might be
better if they spent some time away from each other and reevaluated
their relationship objectively.  Dispassion was the last thing he was
feeling, however, when he finally crawled into bed well after
midnight.

TORI'S FIRST CONSCIOUS thought was that she had a hangover.  She'd only
had one in her life, back when she was in high school.: A friend had
gotten hold of a :

bottle of sweet cherry schnapps.  The cheerfully red liquor was
delicious with 7UP, but the aftereffects had been so miserable she
swore off alcohol completely throughout the rest of high school and had
never been more than a light social drinker since.

Now she felt even worse.  Her head throbbed as if a pile driver were
doing a slow tattoo on the back of her skull.  Her cramped muscles
ached and her mouth tasted like a dirty rag.  It took another minute to
re aliT the cottony taste was just that--a piece of cloth.  Awareness
made her retch.  Instinctively she tried to remove it, only to discover
her hands were tied behind her.

Then it all came tumbling back.  The walk out to the car.  Bending to
unlock iL The arm coming down.  She'd caught a glimpse of it just
before it struck her.  There was something about that arm.  But what
was it?

She blinked.  I'm not blindfolded Total darkness was extremely rare,
yet she could see absolutely nothing.

Not an outline, not a shadow.  A new terror gripped her.  Had the blow
on the head rendered her blind?

In near panic, she struggled to orient herself.  The room, or wherever
she was, smelled dank and musty.

Something light and feathery skittered in short spurts along the length
of her bare arm.  In the blackness she could only picture a large Texas
tarantula.  The cry that welled up inside her was stifled only by the
soggy gag in her mouth.  Tears slithered across the bridge of her nose
and down the side of her face.

She forced herself to regain control, to breathe slowly, willed her
heart to stop its vicious pounding.

She listened ... and heard nothing.  At first.  Graadually tiny sounds
began to eke their way into her consciousness.

Night sounds.  Delicate scratching noises.  Crickets.

The muffled hoot of an owl.  A distant low rumble.

But the cool earthy darkness was impenetrable.

My God, I've been buried alive!

JESSE DC, CED HIMSELF Out of bed the next morning before the alarm went
off, showered, shaved, dressed and fixed a bowl of cold cereal with a
banana.  It didn't make up for the dinner he hadn't eaten the night
before, but that didn't matter.  He didn't have much of an appetite.

He picked up the phone to dial Can, Enterprises, then reconsidered.  If
he was going to be the one to say uncle, he wasn't going to be
satisfied with only hearing her voice.  He needed to see her.  He
locked the house and went to his truck.

As he drove past the front of Amorado Construction he looked for a
bright red Corvette.  It wasn't there.

Did you expect her to be waiting?  She wanted time away from you so why
would you think she'd be here now?  Because I need her.  Because I love
her.

He pulled down the narrow alley to his private parking spot in back.

Does she have any idea how much I need her?

Doesn't she know the nights we've spent together have been the most
wonderful I've ever experienced, that I want to spend every waking and
sleeping moment of my life with her?

He fixed himself a cup of coffee, trying not to remember their first
meeting and the allure of her perfect body as she sat across from him.
He tried to ignore the image of her delft blue eyes gazing at him,
challenging him, tantalizing him.  The doorbell jingled, and he jumped
out of his chair so quickly he almost tipped over the steaming hot
drink.

He bounded through the narrow passage to the reception area, ready to
throw his arms around her, taste her lips, feel her body pressed
against his.  It wasn't Tori.

"You sold out to them!"  Espy accused before he could even say hello.

"What?"  he challenged, making no effort to hide his impatience.  He
wasn't in the mood for games this morning, especially with Esperanza
Mendez.

"It's on the local radio and TV stations.  Carr Enterprises is making a
special announcement today at noon.  It's very mysterious, but from the
sounds of it, they're going ahead with Riverhend.  You sold out to
them," she repeated.

"I don't think you have any right to question my decisions, Espy," he
snapped.

"But no, I didn't sell.

On the contrary, it seems your patron is the one who's sold out."  '
Her chin snapped up.

"What are you talking about?"

"Martin is backing Riverbend now."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe what you like."

"Henry would never do that."

Jesse laughed.

"I hate to disillusion you about your benefactor, Espy, but he's been
using you too."

Confusion and anger tightened her features.  She looked as if she were
about to fire off some biting remark, so he heat her to the punch with
a question.

"You say they're making this announcement about Riverbend at noon
today.  Where?  At Carr's offices?"

"That's what the radio said."

"Then that's where I'm going."  He strode to the front door and opened
it for her.

She gawked at the brusque dismissal, started across the threshold, then
stopped, looked him in the eye, raised her hand and stroked his smooth
cheek.

"Pobre muchacho," she said, her tone not so much mocking as pitying.

"You're being suckered bad and you don't even know it."

He stood there, dumbstruck, and watched her slither gracefully into her
aging sedan and drive away.

Tori DIDN'T KNOW how long she'd been asleep.  Passed out was probably
more like it, considering how her head still ached.  Whichever it was,
she woke with a feeling of gloom and an awareness of the smell of fresh
earth and the sour stench of decaying vegetation.  Jesse, where are
you?  I need you If only she could see something.  Maybe it would give
her a hint of where she was.  Tears of utter frustration welled again
in her eyes.  She was a prisoner and she couldn't do anything about it
But you can, said a little inner voice.  Keep your head.  That's one of
the key lessons you were taught in the military.  Don't panic.

Methodically she stretched her constricted muscles.

Her legs were bound just above the ankles and below the knees, but she
could still flex them.  She managed to turn herself over to relieve the
pressure on her right side.

Now, how extensive is my cell?  Judging from the dampness and smells,
I'm definitely underground, but not exactly buried.  If I can sit up, I
can explore my space, maybe find something useful.

The thought of falling off a ledge or platform, not to mention meeting
other creeping, crawling creatures, made her cautious.

The rag in her mouth was beginning to make her sick again, soaked as it
was with the stale taste of her own saliva.  She tried to catch the
strip of cloth that was tied behind her head with her shoulder, but it
did no good.  She had to concentrate on other things--get her mind off
it.

She thrashed around, attempting to get into a sitting position.  Her
joints were stiff and achy from the damp cold.  She shifted and
strained clumsily and was almost in a sitting position when she
overbalanced and toppled backward, striking her head on the stone
wall.

WINSLOW PACED the oriental carpet in the middle of his office.

"Where is she?"  he demanded of Lydia, who was standing at the edge of
his desk, phone in hand.  She'd been answering calls all morning from
the curious and making outgoing calls trying to find Tori.

"Calm down, Win, we'll find her."

"Something has happened to her.  I know it.  She's been in an accident
somewhere."

"I've checked with the police and the hospitals.

There's no record of her being in an accident.  She's fine, I'm sure,"
Lydia said, though she wasn't nearly as convinced as she tried to
sound.

"Where's Burton?"

"He's over at the mayor's office.  He should be back in a few minutes.
We've got time, Win," she said, looking at the ornate, brass-faced
mantel clock on the credenz "Nearly two hours before we go on the
air.

Tori did a great job of setting everything up.  She gave the caterers
very specific instructions about what she wanted," Lydia rambled on.

"I don't have to do a

K.  N. CAPER Y

thing.  A very organized young lady, your daughter."

She smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

"Relax, Win, everything's running smoothly."

"Except that Ton's not here.  Something must be terribly wrong for her
to stay away.  Have you checked the radio station?"

"And the TV stations," Lydia told him again.

"She hasn't been there yet today, but they've got the spots she worked
out with them all set for broadcast.  We can go on without her if we
have to."

"I don't want to go on without her."

He continued to interrogate Lydia while she made more phone calls.
Burton came in a few minutes later and Winslow practically pounced on
him.

"Have you seem Tod?"

"No.  Not today.  She's probably at the TV station.

Wasn't she going to do an interview on "Coyote Springs in the
Morning'?"

"That was over hours ago and she wasn't on it."

"Maybe she's taping it for tomorrow."

"I've checked," Lydia interjected.

"The interview is scheduled for tomorrow, but live, not taped.  They
haven't seen her today."

"Did you check Amorado's place?"

There was a slight hesitation on Lydia's part, but she quickly realized
there was no point in denying the obvious.

"Yes," she said.

"No one's there."

"Or maybe they're just too busy to answer the phone," Burton quipped
lightly.

"That's enough!"  Winslow exploded.

"What my daughter does in her private life is none of your concern."

Burton looked startled, but he answered calmly, "I

never said it was.  Hey, take it easy, Win.  What's the big deal?"

"We're about to publicly announce a dollar contract and my daughter is
nowhere to found.  That bothers me, and it seems to me it bother you.
She's your partner, too."

"That was your doing, Win, not mine."

Burton slid into one of the visitor's chairs stretched out his legs in
a casual lounging Winslow's mouth fell open.

"I tried to tell you she wasn't ready for thi.

business world isn't like the military.  You can't compliance.  I don't
like saying I told you so, but whole project was going along just fine
when handling it.  I had it down to one property didn't have a
snowball's chance in hell of against us.  Then Tori comes along and
tries to wheeler-dealer.  Sorry, Win, but she's I know how to handle
these people.  She He straightened up, pulled his legs back and leaned
slightly forward on his elbows.

you why she's not here.  Because she was get Amorado to sign with
Riverbend and Instead of dealing with him on a professional she's
chosen to sleep with the competition."

Winslow sprang from his chair.

"How dare he sputtered, his hands visibly shaking.

right to talk about Tod that way."

Burton rose slowly to his feet.

"I'm but I think it's time you woke up and fee.  Riverbend hinges on
our having all the the barrio.  If you'd left it to me, like you've
done, we'd have Amorado's signature on a tract by now.  But you chose
to give

daughter.  Well, it hasn't worked, and now she's afraid to face you
because of it.  That's why she's not here."

Winslow's face grew red, even nd than it had been, but it was Lydia who
erupted.

"Butt Hazlitt, you're despicable!  It was you who screwed up the deal.
You're the one who tamed Jesse--and everyone else in Santa Marta--ag us
by being such a penny-pincher on maintenance.  If you were as smart a
businessman as you think you are, you would have approached Jesse
first, not last."

"Mrs.  Anderson," Burton said sharply, "stay out of this.  You may he
sleeping with your boss, but you're still an employee.  You don't give
me orders."

"Stop!"  Winslow bellowed, stunning them both.

The veins in his neck bulged purple.

"Burton, you owe Lydia an apology.  Now."

Burton clamped his jaw and spun around toward the conference table and
the big map with the little colored pins on it.  He stood motionless,
the back of his neck crimson.  A few moments passed.  He took a deep
breath, then turned slowly and faced them, his expression calm,
closed.

"You're right," he said contritely.

"I apologize to both of you.  My remarks were out of line.  I guess the
past few weeks have me on edge, too.  I'm sorry."

Winslow was not appeased.

"Tori is neither a failure nor a coward, Burton.  You know that as well
as I do.

not here because something has happened to

Burton shook his head slowly, apparently still not "Have you checked
with the cops and the

"Yes," Winslow snarled as he massaged his left forearm with his right
hand.

"Well, I'm sure she's perfectly okay.  Probably just needs some time to
sort things out.  This is her show.

She'll turn up when she's ready."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A CADET WAS giving a lecture.  Except it wasn't a cadet.  It was Jesse
Amorado, resplendent in military mess dress.  Medals blazoned his
chest; he briefing a class.  His even white teeth glowed matched the
spotless gloves covering his hands, I intense brown eyes were focused
exclusively on he "The mind can play tricks on a hostage.  Sometimes
it's because of fear, sensory deprivation, bored Sometimes it's a
coping technique, an escape from the horrors of the situation."

He paced in front of a giant military map of Colorado Springs, the
sharp creases of his formal uniform pants--she noticed they were
starched jeans-emphasized the muscularity of his long legs.

"The big question," he continued, "is, of course who is responsible for
this and what does that person hope to gain.  Are you being held for
ransom?

whom?  And why?  Logic tells you it has to have something to do with
Riverbend.  That could only mean person.

"Is that person contacting your father at this moment, telling him the
price of his daughter's return is to abandon his venture?  Your father
will comply without a fight because he loves you and that mean his min.
The end of Carr Enterprises."

"I'm glad you've shown up.  Where's Tori?"  she asked in anxious
relief.

"I haven't seen her.  Isn't she with her father?"

"We thought she was with you."

Winslow Carr poked his head out of his office.

"Thank God you're here!"  he exclaimed, and blindly offered Jesse his
hand, clammy with perspiration, while he craned his neck, searching the
crowd.

"Where's Tori?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing."

"She hasn't been in this morning.  She was with you last night, wasn't
she?"

Jesse's insides felt suddenly hollow.

"I haven't seen her since our meeting here yesterday."

Winalow Carr's already pale complexion went gray.

He flexed his left hand.

"I assumed she'd gone to your house again."

Jesse didn't miss the word again, nor did he sense disapproval, only
profound worry.  Then the full implication of what Carr said hit him.

"She didn't come home last night?"

Carr shook his head.

"When I left here last evening, she was going over the final details of
a business proposal she was going to make to you.  When she didn't come
home, I assumed---" "That was the last time you saw her?"

Carr was more flustered now, his right hand trembling as he ran it
through his hair.

"Well, if she didn't stay with you and she didn't come home---" "Where
the hell is she?"

"What's up?"

They both turned to see Hazlitt approach.  Carr signaled them into his
partner's office, closing the door behind them.

disappeared."

Hozlitt's brow furrowed.

"Could she have spent the night with someone else?"  He looked at
Jesse.

"How about with your friend Esperanza?"

Jesse shook his head.

"I saw Espy this morning.  She didn't say anything."  He remembered her
taunt about him selling out.

"She would have if Tori had been with her."

"So where is she?"  Carr shouted.

Hazlitt raised his shoulders in a shrug, then filled himself a glass of
water from the carafe on the corner of his desk.

"Did she have someplace she needed to go?"

"Where?"  Carr demanded angrily, losing the last vestige of patience
with his partner.

"We even checked the airport to see if she went flying.  She didn't.
Besides, what could possibly be more important than being here?  This
is the biggest thing that's ever happened to Carr Enterprises."

The anguish in the man's entreaty disturbed Jesse even more than the
words themselves.  Can' was scared.

HANG HER HANDS TIED behind her back was becoming excruciatingly
painful.  Cramped muscles screamed, not only in her arms, but in her
back, as well Then she realized something.  Her hands weren't tied with
rope.  It was something less bulky, less abrasive.

She struggled against it, but to no avail.  It twisted with her
movements, stayed stuck to her, so that even when she spread her wrists
a little, as soon as she took the

Z

pressure off, it rebounded.  Tape!  What kind?  Masking tape would tear
easily.  Duct tape.  Flexible and stronger.

The chilly stillness of stale air was making her shiver.  She dreaded
activity, yet yearned for it.  I've got to keep moving, keep active.
Once her muscles began to warm, she found it exhilarating, a new act of
deft-an.

She strained against the tape binding her wrists.

Again there was the sensation of it stretching.  Maybe I do it often
enough, it'll lose its elasticity.  Or will I run out of energy before
it does?

Aside from being bound hand and foot, she wasn't restrained in any
other way.  Time to further explore her space.  How much was there? How
wide, how tall was this "grave"?  An icy shaft of pain shot up her
spine as she writhed to get her bound legs under her to get into a
kneeling position.

It was when she shifted around again to relieve some of the pressure on
her elbow that she thought she heard it.  A distant sound, one that was
easily lost in the dead acoustics of her own personal black hole.  She
couldn't even be sure she'd heard it.  She straggled all the more, if
only to keep her body active, her circulation moving.

There it is again, closer, more distinct.  Thunder.  A storm moving

IN

IT WASN'T TILL HE REACHED the parking lot and didn't see Martin's
Cadillac that Jesse began to put the pieces together and comprehend the
meaning of Espy's parting gibe.  He was being toyed with, manipulated,
but maybe not by Martin.

He went back inside and found Garnet Price.

"Is Martin here?"

Garnet chuckled.

"I'm not even sure he's recovered

from the pounding you gave him.  He's certainly not showing himself in
public.  Not with two black eyes from a broken nose.  Word has it he's
holed up on a friend's ranch in another county.  Anyway, he's still
adamantly opposed to Riverbend."

"Hasn't changed his mind, huh?"

Garnet threw back the last swallow of his champagne.

"His staff would probably like him to."  He laughed as he moved toward
the buffet table.

"But then they don't have to run for reelection."

So they didn't have Martin in their pocket.  Burton had only said that
to force Jesse's hand.  Did Tori know the truth?  Was she part of the
scheme to bring him on side

The words on the taped message echoed though his head.

"I'll explain everything when I see you."  Explain what?  That his
bullheadedness had put her in an untenable position, forcing her to
choose between her father and him, and that she was going to stand by
her father?  The pity, he mused sadly, was that he understood and
respected that decision.  Family loyalty came first.

Torn WOKE to a sharp crash, a clap of doom.  It frightened her that she
had fallen asleep again.  Am I so weak that a few minutes of struggle
exhausts me?  And my vision.  I still can't see anything.  Am I really
blind?

Then she heard it.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Faster.  Faster.

It was raining.  Water was coming in, filling her prison.

Thunder grumbled continuously now, deep reverberations that shook the
ground and compressed the air, turning her cell into a drum.

She forced herself to think logically.  Summer rains

didn't last long.  But that didn't mean the flow of wouldn't.  Flash
floods were often at their most asta ting when it wasn't even
raining.

Ton's skin burned where she kept pulling on sticky tape binding her
wrists.  It doesn't matter.

going to get myself out of here.  Slowly, very the spread between her
hands was increasing.  Yes, damn it.  ru get myself free.  I just have
to keep at it.

But the strain on her restricted muscles was ing more and more
torturous.  I need to rest, need regain my stamina.  She let her tensed
posture The momentary relief felt wonderful.  I'll just give myself a
few minutes' respite.

BURTON SAT UPRIGHT in his high-backed chair opposite his senior partner
and spoke with a firmness usually reserved for negotiations with
contractors and competitors.  He often achieved his goals not by
compromise, but by being tough and unbending.  Win-slow had always
considered his obstinacy an asset.

He'd never expected to be at the receiving end of it.

"I don't know where Tori is, Win.  But I know one thing.  Unless we
announce the plans for Riverbend in a couple of minutes, whether she's
here or not, the project's going to be lost, this business is going to
be mined and we're going to go bust.  Everything you and I have been
working for will go down the drain."

He got up and leaned across the desk.

"If that happens, Win, I'm going to sue you for breach of faith for
whatever you might have left.  I haven't worked my ass off for fifteen
years, doing your bidding, taking care of your properties, working the
deals and details, to have you throw it away because you can't find
your precious

daughter.  Now, I think we'd better get out there and do our job.  Our
public is waiting."

Burton moved toward the door and opened it, only to find Jesse standing
there, his knuckles raised to knock.  Burton stepped back dramatically,
allowing Jesse a chance to slip into the room.  He closed the heavy
paneled door behind him to block out the hubbub outside.

Jesse faced Hazlitt.

"You never convinced Martin to join you on Riverbend.  He isn't even in
Coyote Springs."

Hazlitt's smirk was all the answer Jesse needed.  The temptation to
punch out the bastard the way he had Martin was overwhelming.  There
would be a moment of blessed satisfaction in doing it, but experience
proved it would be unproductive.  He'd humiliated himself and his
family once already by lack of self-control.

He wouldn't do it again.

"Tori knew all about it," Hazlitt replied smugly, to reinforce any
suspicion Jesse might have had that he was the victim of a conspiracy
to get his property.

"In fact, it was her idea.  Now, if you'll excuse me."  He bulldozed
past Jesse.

"No!"  Carr called after Hazlitt as he bumped into Lydia, almost
knocking her down.  She caught herbal-ance and looked after him, then
turned her attention back to her boss.

"Win," she said, "it's nearly twelve o'clock and Tori still isn't here.
Do we go on without her?  What do we tell all those people.  Win?
What's the matter?  Win?"  she screamed.

Winslow Carr was slumped crookedly in his chair, his left arm dangling
over its edge, his right arm thrown across his chest.  His face was
beet red, his features

contorted in pain.  Thick heads of sweat were poised on his
forehead.

Jesse run to his side.  He'd seen this happen before.

"Call 911," he shouted to Lydia.

"He's having a heart attack.  Hurry."

"Oh, God," Lydia cried, and raced to the phone on the desk.

Jesse loosened Carr's tie and prayed--he wasn't sure how silently--that
this time the man could be saved.

Three years he fore Jesse's father had died of a heart attack, died in
his arms.

"Win, try to relax.  Breathe slowly.  Hang on.  We'll have an ambulance
here in a minute."

In the background, though it was barely a few feet away, Jesse heard
Lydia fighting to keep calm as she relayed information hack and forth
between him and the emergency dispatcher.  With every exchange, she
added, "Please hurry."  Stretching the stricken man out on the oriental
carpet, Jesse wondered for the millionth time if his father might have
survived if he could have gotten him medical help more quickly.

"You've got to find her," Winslow cried in painful gasps that reminded
Jesse of his father's dying injunction to take care of his mother and
the family.

"I'll find her, "Jesse promised.

"I swear to you I'll find her."

THE RAIN WAS making puddles now, and pooling around her.  The water
rippled when she moved, splashed against her waist.  If she fell asleep
again and slumped over, she might not have the strength or dexterity to
get her head above the rising tide.  Awareness brought new terror.  She
couldn't rest now, couldn't give in to the seduction of sweet repose
and dreams of Jesse holding her in his arms, stroking her skin,
murmuring love's inspiring words in her ear.  To sleep now might mean
drowning in a foot of water.

Jesse, are you looking for me?  Do you even know I'm missing?  Surely
he had expected her last evening after the nights they'd spent
together.  What are you doing now?  Did you call me at home to see if I
was there?  Have you spoken to my dad?

She pulled violently against the tape on her wrists.

How long had she been unconscious?  Or ... was this a trick her mind
was playing on her?  But the bands that held her weren't imaginary. She
tugged harder and might have given up if she hadn't felt the slight
tear.

The bonds gave a little more, and she knew she was making progress.  It
was slow but enough to spur her on.  Just a few more tugs and twists.
Despite the damp coolness around her, she could feel the sweat on her
face stinging her eyes.  No matter.  I'm going to get out of this
hellhole ... if I don't drown first.

"I'm coming with you," Lydia announced to the paramedics who'd come in
response to the 911 call.

"It would be better if you didn't, ma'am," the young man said over his
shoulder as he adjusted an oxygen mask on his patient.

"I have to," she insisted, her voice nearly breaking.

Jesse moved behind her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.
She leaned against him.  He could feel her trembling.

"Let them take him," he said quietly.

"They'll need all the room in the ambulance they can get.  You'd be in
the way.  I'll drive you to the hospital."

She turned toward him, tears coursing down her cheeks.

"But I--"

"Shh," he intoned sympathetically, and ann around her to quell her
shaking.

"He's in good hands.  Give them space to do their jobs."

"Ready?"  the paramedic asked his burly assistant.

"On my count One, two, three."  With one sure and steady motion they
lifted their charge onto a portable gurney, placed the small oxygen
tank between his knees, strapped him down, then raised the gurney on
its accordion legs.

The only way out was through the reception area, which was bursting
with people.  The deafening hubbub of a few minutes earlier had
diminished to a tense murmur when the paramedics arrived.  Now, as the
deathly pale figure of Winslow Carr was being moved along the corridor,
the only sounds were of cameras clicking and camcorders whirring.
Flashbulbs blinked like streaks of jagged lightning.

"Is he dead?"  Jesse heard someone whisper as they passed by.

"Nah," someone else responded in the same hushed tone.

"They'd have his face covered if he was dead."

"Where's his daughter?"  another person asked.

"I

thought she was supposed to be here."

TORI STRUGGLED against the last sinew of tape lashing her wrists.  A
spasm of pain, sharp as a knife blade, burned into her shoulder when
her left ann sprang away from her body.  Her hands were free!  The
muscles in her arms shrieked as she flexed them.  Painfully, for her
bones and ligaments seemed fossilized by the enforced inactivity, she
untied the foul gag in her mouth.

Removing it made her retch.  She worked her jaw, then took a long, deep
breath, exhaling more slowly.  Control.

Keep under control.

She set about freeing herself from the rest of her bindings.  Her hands
were reluctant to work.  It took several minutes to tear the tape
holding her legs together.

She tried to stand.  Her head swam.  The darkness compounded her
dizziness, bringing on a sudden jolt of nausea.

The only sound was of rain pelting the wood above.

She moved slowly, stretching her arms to gauge the dimensions of this
horrible place.  Four walls of smooth round stones.  River rocks?  In a
chamber perhaps six feet by twelve.  There was a narrow wooden
staircase at one end.  So I'm not in a grave but some kind of cellar. A
cellar near a river.  She knew of only one such place.  The Amorado
ranch.

JESSE AND LYDIA RACED into the hospital emergency room.

"He's been taken to a treatment room"' was all the harried nurse behind
the counter could tell them.

"Where will he go from there?"  Jesse asked.

"They're evaluating his EKG," she said, "the one that was transmitted
from the ambulance.  Based on that, they'll probably take him to the
cardiac care unit.

We'll let you know as soon as we can," she said as she handed a chart
to another nurse and ordered a paramedic to put the latest arrival in
room number six.

"There's a waiting area just over there," she informed them.

"Someone will be with you in a few minutes."

Then she charged off down the corridor.

At least he wasn't dead, Jesse thought, and from the expression on
Lydia's face guessed she was thinking the same thing.  He escorted her
to a small square room.

Several people were scattered around it, some paging mechanically
through magazines, others into space.

No one was paying attention to the television mounted on an overhead
platform in the corner of the room.  The sound was turned down, but the
picture was clear, a news shot of the outside of Carr Enterprises.

Jesse reached up and adjusted the volume.

"the most ambitious residential development in Coyote Springs in recent
memory.  Less than an hour ago, only minutes before they were scheduled
to announce a multi-million-dollar contract with construction
companies, suppliers and major investors, Winslow Carr, founder and
senior partner of Carr Enterprises, suffered what is believed to have
been a heart attack.

He was taken by ambulance to Coyote Springs Memorial Hospital.  At this
time, hospital spokesmen are saying only that he is in stable but
guarded condition " "Whatever that means," Lydia commented
contemptuously, I "conceived several years ago by Carr Enterprises when
they began buying up vast holdings in Santa Marta.  The old Mexican
quarter, commonly known as the barrio, has been deteriorating for some
time, and Carr and his partner began developing plans to replace it
with a modern, carefully planned community "

"No mention of Tori," Jesse noted.

"Strange, isn't it?  I wonder if Burt asked them not to mention her."

"His partner for the last ten years, Burton Hazlitt, delayed the
ceremony that would kick off the River-bend project until he received
word that Carr was stable and making progress.  He then decided to
exercise his partner's proxy and proceed with signing contracts with

Z: I

several major construction and building companies, saying his longtime
business associate and good friend would want him to go on .... " "That
son of a bitch," Lydia muttered softly.

"That son of a bitch."

TORI MOVED OVER to the narrow wooden stairs.  They seemed solid enough
when she placed her foot on the first step.  She put her hand above her
head, felt rough-cut boards of what she supposed--hoped--was the
trapdoor out of this dungeon.  Pushing up, she felt a tiny bit of give,
mostly from the resilience of the sodden wood, not its weakness.

She ran her hands along the edges of the door.  On her left were four
projections, which she quickly figured out were nuts on the ends of
bolts.  A hinge.  Which meant the door opened on her right.

Summoning a reserve of strength, she applied pressure in the right
corner and almost fell over.  Light!

She'd seen light.  Its whiteness was painful and forced her to blink.
I'm not blind.  I can see.  Her pulse quickened with a joy she would
have thought unimaginable in this horrible place.

The pounding in her head wasn't important now.  She pushed harder to
get another glimpse of daylight.  Glorious daylight.

Suddenly the step she was standing on made a splintering sound.  Before
she could react, the board under her snapped.  Her knees slammed
against the stair above.  She tripped on the lower step and tumbled
backward.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JESSE REDUCED THE VOLUME on the TV when the news bulletin was over and
a soap opera resumed.  He turned in time to see the sheriff come into
the room and go directly to Lydia.

"How is he?"  Rudy Kraus held out his hands, which she took greedily.

"They said on the radio he had a heart attack."

She nodded, her eyes brimming.

"No word yet, but I think it's pretty serious."

"Where's Tori?  I heard you called down to the station asking about
her."

"We can't find her, Rudy."

"Where have you checked?"

"Everywhere I could think of.  The businesses we deal with.  Her
friends.  Even the airport.  Nobody's seen her.  Kraus looked
skeptical.

"Who saw her last and when?"

Lydia toyed with the rings on her fingers.

"Win and I left the office a little after five yesterday.  She said she
had some details she wanted to work out before she quit for the day."

"where was she going from there?"

"We assumed to see Jesse.  She's been discussing some property issues
with him and thought she'd worked out a solution."

Kraus looked at Jesse.

"Did she go to your place?"

"No.  I had a message from her on my answering machine.  She said she
wanted to talk to me, and I expected her to stop by, but she never
did."

"Weren't you worried when she didn't show up?"  Let down, disappointed,
Jesse thought.

"Her message only said she wanted to discuss matters when she saw me.
She didn't specify a time or place.  When she didn't show up, I figured
we'd see each other today."

Kraus nodded and turned back to Lydia.

"So you and Win were the last ones to see her.  Was she all right when
you left her?"

"She was fine.  But ... no, we weren't the last ones out.  Burt was
still there.  He must have left a few minutes later, though, because he
called us from the country club to say they were auditioning a new
dance band and wanted to know if we would have dinner with him.  We
declined," she added.

"Win was too tired."

She put a hankie to her nose.

"What were Ton's plans for today?"

"We had the Riverbend contract signing set up for noon.  When she
didn't show up at nine, I supervised the catering.  I figured she'd
gone over to see Henry Marlin."

"Martin?"  Jesse interrupted.

"He's not even in town.  Why would she go to see him?"

Lydia raised a delicate brow.

"To invite him to the signing.  She tried to call him yesterday, right
after you came to the office.  But he wasn't in.  When she didn't show
up this morning, I figured she'd stopped over to see him on her way
into work But by ten-thirty, I was getting worried, so I called
Martin's office.  They said they hadn't see her."

"What did you do then?"  Kraus pressed.

"I asked Win if he knew where she was.  We thought at first she was
with Jesse, but then he showed up looking for her.  That's when Win
started getting really upset."

"There was no one else she might have gone to see?"

"Rudy," said Lydia, "Ton's a partner in the company now.  She would
have been at the contract signing.

Riverbend is the biggest venture her father has ever undertaken.  I
tell you she would have been there."

Tim POOL of flooding water cushioned Ton's fall.

Slightly dazed, her knees burning from the abrasions they'd received,
she climbed back to her feet.  The water was up to midcalf now and was
colder than she would have expected a summer shower to be.

Soaking wet and beginning to shiver, she found her way back to the
steps.  If the stairs were so weak and rotten, how would she ever
manage to get enough pressure on the door above to force it open?

With her escape hatch slammed shut again, pitch darkness had returned.
But it won't frighten me this time, not nearly as much as it did when I
thought I might never see again.

She groped along the inside of the stair riser for the broken step and
found it when a splinter of jagged wood rammed itself under her
fingernail.  She winced with the pain, made a cursing sound and pulled
it out.

Once more she inched her hand carefully along the upright support and
found a piece of the shattered step.

Carefully she tipped off a sliver of wood about eighteen inches long
and an inch square at the fat end.

The first step was completely under water now, the second one missing.
She lifted her foot to the third rung and mounted it, this time
spreading her feet so she w standing on the edges of the step.  Putting
her ba against the overhead door, she pushed up enough create a tiny
chink of light, then forced the wedge, wood into the breach as far as
it would go.

At least now I have fresh air and light.

What she saw when she turned around, however made her wish she
hadn't.

"SHE KNOWS OW STRESSED Out her father has been Lydia went on.

"She'd never stay away like this, n without an explanation."

"Sheriff," Jesse said, "if we could find her car--Krans nodded.

"Her Corvette shouldn't be too h to spot, assuming, of course, it's not
tucked away in garage somewhere."

"So you think she's been kidnapped?"

"I'm not jumping to any conclusions yet But it don seem strange she's
not here.  I've known Tori since si was a little girl.  I agree with
Lydia.  This isn't like her.

"How about going on TV and radio and appeal for information?"

"Can't do any harm.  It'll take me a few minutes set it up.  In the
meantime, I'll put out an alert for h vehicle."

Jesse waited until the sheriff left before aski Lydia, "Did Tod know
Martin never endorsed the Ri erbend project?"

She was clearly confused.

"But Burr said yesterday he had.  Win didn't trust Martin to keep his
word.  Iq asked Tori to make sure it got highly publicized .  Martin
couldn't renege."

"It was a lie.  Martin's been out of the county for the past three
days.  In fact, when I was talking wi

Mr.  Carr just before he had his heart attack, Burton admitted he'd
made it up.  He said Tori knew about it and went along as a means of
pressuring me."

"That's impossible," Lydia objected angrily.

"Burt might do something that underhanded, but not Tori.

Certainly not to you.  She talked to her father about offering you a
construction contract for the Riverbend project."

"As a bribe?"  he asked.

Lydia looked disappointed.

"Do you really believe that?"

"No," he confessed, and shook his head apologetically.

"The three of them talked about it, Win, Tori and Burr.  Win was all
for it, Even Burt agreed to making you the offer."

"Funny he never mentioned it to me this morning."

"Tori thought you could use the profits to finance your Coyote Mesa
venture."  Lydia gave him a hard stare.

"She loves you Jesse.  You've got to find her."

THE WATER WAS REVOLTING.  Dead leaves and twigs covered its surface,
though where they had come from she couldn't imagine.  The side walls
were festooned with crawling bugs.  A black widow spiderweb was an inch
from her left elbow.  A dead field mouse bobbed in a corner.  The head
of a snake made a vee pattern as it rippled across the little pond.
Instinctively Tori pulled back against the stairs, only to discover it
was merely a water bug.

Heart pounding viciously, she took a series of long, deep breaths to
help regain her composure.  But she couldn't stop the trembling.

I'm trapped.  I'm helpless.  I'm going to die.

The rain was coming down hard, drumming on the door, splashing in
pools around it, through the gap between the door frame and the rock
wall underneath.

Placing her hand in the fissure, she found the wood soft and porous.
Rotten.  Can I tear enough of it away to crawl out the side of the
cellar?  What's beyond the wood frame?  Earth?  Concrete?  Stouter
wood?

She began to chip away at the edges of the opening with her fingers. As
soon as she dislodged a large piece of rotten wood, she realized she
had made a tragic mistake.

Oh my Goa I've broken a dam The trickle filling her tomb had turned
into a torrent.

"ARE YOU GOING TO BE all right?"  Jesse asked Lydia.

"I'll feel better knowing you're out there looking for her."

He felt a pang of guilt, nevertheless, in leaving her alone to cope
with the terrible ordeal of walling to find out if the man she loved
was going to survive.  Winslow Carr, Jesse concluded, was a lucky man
to have found this lady.  Almost as lucky as he was to have found
Tori.

When he went out to his truck, Jesse climbed behind the wheel and
stopped.  Where to look?  What could he possibly do that the police,
who were so much better equipped and trained for such searches,
couldn't do?

Still, he had to do something.

He checked back at Carr Enterprises, which was the closest place she
might have gone.  The parking lot, packed with vehicles just a couple
of hours before, was now completely deserted.

He checked his own office.  But it, too, was abandoned.

On an impulse, he drove by Espy's apartment
house.  There were any number of reasons why Tod might have gone to
see Espy---to help with a scholarship application, to challenge her on
her association with Martin---but there was no sign of the Corvette of
Espy's Ford.

THE RAIN REFUSED to let up.  Water kept pouring into the bunker.  It
was waist-high now, though Tori did her best to stay above it on the
wooden steps.  Bugs climbed up the insides of her clothing.  She
ignored them.

She searched desperately for an escape route.  She'd salvaged another
piece of wood from the splintered step and forced the corner of the
door up another haft an inch.  It afforded a little more light and air,
but nothing else.

She thought of her father.  He deserved better than to lose everything
he'd worked so hard for and for so many years.  To hell with the
Riverbend project.  To hell with Carr Enterprises, if it comes to that.
We'll start over if we have to.  Nothing's more important than being
surrounded by family, the people I love.  Dad.

Lydia.  Jesse.

Oh, Jesse, please help me.

But there was no answer.

The storm not only showed no signs of letting up, it was gathering
strength.  Lightning strobed around her.

Thunder boomed almost simultaneously.  It was directly above her now
and staying there.

Frustration and fear intensified as she pushed and pounded on the
wooden door until she was drained of what seemed like the last shred of
energy.  Can the noise I'm making be heard?  Should I call out?  Is
anyone there?  And if so, is it friend or foe ?  Desperation fought
with indecision and won.  She beat with sore

fists harder than ever against the wet wood and yelled her loudest.

"Help!  Help!  Jesse, where are you?"  But no one was there.

JESSE WAS TWO BLOCKS from Espy's house when he caught a flash of color
down a narrow alley.  Was it possible there were two red Corvettes in
Coyote Springs?  Maybe, but not with personalized license plates.

He pulled up behind it and got out.  The storm that had been building
to the northwest was moving in.  Its dense cloud cover blocked the sun,
but the cool respite it brought wasn't enough to explain the cold
shiver that careened down his spine as he approached the vehicle.

Or what was left of it.  The sports car had been stripped.  The wheels
were gone, the hood removed and parts of the engine torn out.  The
bucket seats were in tatters, head and taillights missing.  It was a
frightening sight, the maimed, broken skeleton of What had been a
beautiful, well-functioning vehicle.

Where was its owner?  What condition was she in?

Jesse bounded up the walk of the dilapidated house, little more than a
shack, behind which the car was parked.  An ancient woman, bent with
arthritis, her wrinkled face framed with thin wisps of gray hair, came
warily to the screen door.

"cora, por favor, that car behind your house.

What can you tell me about it?"

"Nada.  I saw nothing."

Santa Marta had become the most nm-down sector of the city, and this
was the worst part of the barrio.

Gang graffiti marred fences, walls and signs.  Admitting to knowledge
could sometimes be dangerous.

"Can you tell me where the young lad) it?"

"No," she answered him in Spanish.

"I never anyone."  "How long has it been there?"

"When I got up this morning it was parked there."

"It is very important that I find the owner," he continued.

"Her father has had a heart attack and needs her."

The old woman's expression softened.

"I am sorry to hear that I would help you if I could, seor.  But I
really did not see anyone."

This time Jesse believed her.

"Do you have a telephone?

May I use it?"

She said nothing but stepped aside to let him in.  The room was small,
cramped and shabby.  The cheap furniture would never qualify as
antiques or collectibles.

The phone, an old rotary dial, sat on a scarred wooden box that served
as an end table.  His hands shook as he picked up the dog-eared
directory, found the number and dialed the police desk.  The old woman
turned away with a fatalistic shrug.

"This is Jesse Amorado.  I've just found Tori Carr's Corvette..."  He
gave the desk sergeant the address and promised to wait for a patrol
car to arrive.  Perhaps he could serve as interpreter, since the old
woman might suddenly forget her English in the stress of tang to the
police.

While he waited, he called Lydia at the hospital.  In all the panic and
confusion when Winslow was stricken, she'd had the presence of mind to
pick up Carr's cellular phone and put it in her purse.  She'd given
Jesse the unlisted number, making him promise to keep her informed.

"How is Mr.  Carr?"  he asked.

"Not good.  I got tired of getting vague reports and finally had to
threaten them with the wrath of Lydia if I didn't start getting some
straight answers to my questions."

"The wrath of Lydia?"  he asked, amused in spite of himself.

For a moment, her tone lightened, too.

"I hope you never experience it, Jesse.  It's not a pleasant thing. But
there are a few old heads around here who remember when my husband was
sick and they tried to patronize me."

He turned serious.

"What did you find out?"

"He's suffered a major heart attack and may have to have surgery."

"At least he's alive.  I've got some news, too, though I'm not sure if
mine is any better.  I found Ton's car, or what's left of it, in an
alley behind Hidalgo Street."

"God, that's the worst part of town.  What would it be doing there?"

"I don't know.  The police are on their way now," he said.

"Apparently the car was parked here during the night.  I've talked to
only one person so far, but she didn't see who drove it here.  Does
Tori have any friends around here?"

Lydia was silent for a moment.

"As far as I know, the only person she knows in that part of town is
Espy.

But that's a couple of blocks away.  Why would Tod park there to visit
her?".

"It doesn't make sense," Jesse replied.

"Leaving the car here would be asking for it to be trashed, and being
in this neighborhood at night would be dangerous for a woman alone,
especially a beautiful Anglo woman.  '

"It must have been stolen somewhere else and dumped there."

The notion had occurred to him too.  It wasn't a happy thought.  If
someone had stolen the where was Tori?  Had she been abducted?  Was she
ditch somewhere beaten, maybe raped, perhaps dead?

Impotent rage, fanned by terror, tensed every muscle in his body.  He
had to find her.

THERE'S NO ESC I've explored every inch of this hellhole.

The water's up to my chest now.  Another eighteen inches and I'll
drown.  Three-quarters of an inch from freedom!

Suddenly there was an explosion of lightning so intense the air was
rife with ozone.  The simultaneous thunder shook the ground.

"Foil's heart jumped in terror as she pressed her hands to her ears.
Slowly she removed them.  They were still ringing when, ten seconds
later, something crashed on the door above her.  The shock wave jolted
her off her perch on the slippery, wet stairs and tossed her like a rag
doll into the putrid, muddy water.

JESSE HAD HARDLY HUNG UP the phone when two uniformed men arrived.
Neither was Hispanic, nor did either of them speak Spanish, except,
perhaps, for a few curt commands.  As he expected, the old woman
refused to divulge any information to the police.  Jesse realized he'd
made a serious tactical error.  He should have spent the time
questioning her instead of talking to Lydia.  He felt sure she would
have had more information to give if he had approached her right.  He'd
lost opportunity to learn more about what had happened to Tori.

"What are you going to do?"  he asked the senior policeman, a man in
his mid-forties, whose name was Henshaw.

"We'll get some patrolmen here who speak Spanish and start questioning
the neighbors.  We probably won't learn anything.  It's amazing how
deaf, dumb and blind these people can be."

Jesse was tempted to ask who "these people" were but let it pass.  The
phrase would doubtless be used in any neighborhood.  For the police, it
was often a matter of "us" and "them."

"I don't imagine you'll get much from the car," he commented.

"By now every kid and his big brother has probably pawed it."

"You'd be surprised what forensics can turn up.

Trouble is, it takes time."

How much time was there?  Jesse wondered.

"The old woman said the car was parked there when she got up this
morning."

"Ask her what condition it was in," Henshaw prompted.

Jesse did so.

The woman hesitated.

"I don't know.  It was just there."

"Senora," Jesse said, unable to hide his impatience, "a man's daughter
is missing, kidnapped.  Now the man has had a heart attack in grief for
her loss.  If you Can tell us anything that might help find her, I'm
sure he will want to reward you for the information."

The woman's rheumy eyes sparked with contempt and he saw an old,
deep-seated anger flare, an anger mixed with resignation and
suffering.

"Do you insult me, senor?  Do you think I hold back information because
I value money more than a daughter's life?"

She hobbled to a rickety table and picked up plastic frame containing a
faded snapshot of a girl of perhaps fifteen.  The teenager wasn't
pretty, but was life in her eyes, a rare kind of joy.

"They killed her," she said, "my They killed her because she would not
do what they wanted.  Because she would not disgrace herself."

"Who?"

"It does not matter.  It was a long time ago."

Jesse felt a lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry."

"I do not know what time the car was brought," the woman said.

"But it was not there when I looked out the window at midnight.  I got
up at seven, when the sun was just rising, another bright, sunny, empty
day.

It was there then.  Already boys were starting to take things off of
it.  Hubcaps, then wheels.  They wanted to take the seats, too, but
they could not figure out how.

Maybe they did not have the right tools.  I do not know.

But one of them got mad and began slashing the leather.  His companion
shouted something and started punching him.  They fought."

"Who?"  Jesse prompted.

"Neighborhood boys.  It does not matter which ones.

They had nothing to do with bringing the car here.

They just take things that do not belong to them.  You cannot stop
them.  Even if the police put them in jail for a while, they do it
again when they come out.  While they are there they learn more ways to
hurt people."

"You never saw the person who brought the car here?"

"No.  But it was an Anglo."

"How do you know that?"  he asked, startled by her certainty.

"One of our people would never leave such a rich possession here, not
unless he wanted it to be destroyed.

Only an Anglo would be stupid enough to do such a thing."

GASPING AND CHOKING, Tori managed to reach the stairs again.  She
couldn't touch the floor of the cellar anymore.  The water was too
high.  There was barely a foot left between its filthy surface and the
wooden ceiling above.

She checked through her little peephole.  It took a moment to
understand what she saw.  Rescue was impossible now!  A huge tree limb
had fallen on top of the door, pinning it shut.  There was no escape.

JESSE KEPT Thinking about Espy.  She was involved, he was sure of it.
Ton's Corveue being found only a few blocks from where Espy lived was
too much of a coincidence.  Could Tori have gone to see Espy---on her
own volition or by invitation--and been waylaid there?  Why?  Obviously
to keep her away from the contract si ming.  Espy was upset about
Riverbend, but would she be a party to such a trick?  Besides, Tori was
helping Espy, which should make them friends.  There was so much about
this that didn't make sense.

The two policemen at the old woman's house were soon joined by another
patrol, this time composed of a young man and a woman who both spoke
Spanish.

Jesse excused himself when they began to canvass the neighborhood for
information.  He hoped it wasn't a futile effort.

A few minutes later, as the first raindrops splattered across his
windshield, he pulled up in front of Espy's apartment.  Her car was in
its usual spot.  She wasn't

very quick about answering the bell however, so he began pounding on
the door.

"What do you want?"  Espy called out impatiently through the narrow
crack allowed by the security chain.

"In," he replied harshly.

"Open the damn door, Espy, or I swear I'll smash it in."

Her mouth fell open.

"Jesse, what's the matter with you?  Okay, okay.  Hold your horses."

She closed the door long enough to release the chain.

When she opened it again, he pushed it wide and stormed into the
apartment.

"Where's Tori?"  he demande "Tori?  How the hell should I know?"

The tiny kitchenette was too small for anyone to hide in, so he checked
out the bathroom and finally went into the bedroom.  Espy followed
close behind him, "Has she been here?"

"Not since the other day when you were here with her.  What's going
on?"

"She's missing."

"Missing?"  It took a minute for the word to sink in.  Then Espy
exploded.

"You think I'm holding her prisoner?"  Her dark eyes blazed.

"You bastard.  I think you better leave now, before I call the police.
Get out."

He ignored her.

"You said this morning that I was being jerked around, but you didn't
say who was pulling the chain."

She glared at him.  He was about to demand an explanation when he saw
something on the table beside the bed.  He picked it up and examined
it.  A cold chill run down his back, followed by a burning rage.

"Tell me everything," he commanded, holding out a gold monogrammed tie
clasp.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EXHAUSTION CREPT into Ton's bones.  A pervading sense of hopelessness
and futility wormed its way into her willpower.  So many things left
undone.  So many dreams unrealized.  She'd finally found the man she
wanted to spend the rest of her life with... Tears she didn't know she
had left coursed down her already wet cheeks.  I can't give up without
a fight.  I WOn't.

Her arms felt like lead as she reached out to the fist-size hole she'd
created between wood frame and rock.

Energy nearly spent, she overbalanced and tumbled again into the pool
of swampy water.

When she tried to recapture her perch, it wasn't there.  The staircase,
jarred from its moorings by the vibration of the fallen tree limb, had
broken loose.  It bobbed uselessly beside her, further restricting her
space and movement.

Jesse's grOMACrI MUS were fight with fear and dread.  Espy's visitor
had been unusually inquisitive about her visit to the Amorado ranch and
had asked several times if she was sure no one was staying there.

Jesse was convinced now that was where Tori had been taken.

He rammed his foot to the floorboard of the aging pickup, but he had to
back off as the full force of the

 E

storm that had been rumbling in from the finally reached town.  He
couldn't help Tori if he into an accident.  But he knew he had to
hurry.  Rain was coming clown again in horizontal streaks.  His
windshield wipers slapped violently back and forth, but not fast enough
to clear the glass of the sheets of water striking it.  An empty pickup
was not the driving in such a storm.  The rear wheels planed on flooded
roadway.  He steered and counter steered with each gust of wind.

The going got even tougher when he left the highway.  The bar ditches
that lined the edges of the narrow, high-crowned road were running like
spring streams, full of tumbling rocks and branches.  Jesse forced
himself to slow down lest he careen off the side and become hopelessly
stuck.

The air coming through the vents in the dashboard was damp and chilly.
At any other time he would have thought it refreshing.  Not now.  The
purple-and-green tinge in the heavy charcoal gray clouds hanging low
over the drenched land only added to his alarm.

He approached the turnoff to the ranch only to find the driveway
blocked by a fallen ash.  There was no way he could get around it.  No
way he could move it.

Tiny pellets of hail bounced on the hood of the truck as he jumped out
of the cab.  In less than ten seconds he was soaked to the skin,
hailstones stinging his bare arms and neck.  He clawed his way around,
through and over the huge tree's branches as they whipped at his face
and arms.

Adrenaline pumping, he ran to the house, calling her name.

"Tori/ Tori/"

The house was dark.  He fought furiously to get his key out of his wet
jeans, then to hold his hand steady

enough to get it into the lock.  All the time, he kept calling to
Tori.

He bounded into the kitchen, dodged from room to room.  She must be
here.  But where?  There was no cellar.  Oh, God.  Yes, there was.

He shot out the door into the backyard and ran around the side of the
old garage.  His heart pounded.

His belly was clenched with dread.  He slid around the end of the
listing wooden building and his heart stopped.  A huge branch of a
mighty oak tree, its nub scarred by lightning, lay sprawled across the
entrance to the underground shelter.

"Tori.  Where are you?"

He heard nothing but the howl of the wind, the beating of hail on the
tin roof of the garage.  Pure terror gripped his heart.  He ran over to
the fallen branch.  He tried to pull it, to push it.  It wouldn't move.
Maybe she wasn't there.  Maybe he'd gotten it wrong.  Then he saw it.
The piece of wood jammed under the corner of the door.  From the
inside.

"Tori!"

A finger appeared and his heart lurched.

He tried to pull the door up.  No good.  It was pinned by the fallen
limb.  He bent down by the finger, trying to see inside.

"Are you all right?"  He had to yell even to hear himself.

The thin voice that answered him was muffled by the shrieking wind.

"Jesse.  I'm ... hanging on to the side.  Nothing to stand on... Water
coming in.  Help me."

"I will, I win," he promised.

"Hang on, Tori.  I love you."

He ran to the garage.  The door was locked.  The key was in the house.
No time to get in The tall, old sash window on the side was painted
shut.  He picked up a fallen stick and smashed all the glass, then
climbed through the jagged opening.  In the corner were tools.

He picked up a crowbar and a long-handled ax, then crawled back out
through the window again.

"Tori, I'm going to get you out of there."

"Hurry, Jesse."  He could hear the weakness in her reply--and the
hope.

He used the crowbar, but the tree limb was too close to the edge of the
door and too heavy to move.  He didn't have time to chop it up with the
ax.

"Tori," he shouted close to the slip of an opening, I "I've got to
smash the door with an ax.  Can you move away from it?"

"Yes.  Hurry, Jesse.  Hurry."

He watched her finger disappear and he almost panicked.

Then he gave a mighty yell of warning and swung the ax with all his
might between the forked branches.  It struck the middle of the door
and bounced off the water-slick surface.

"Tori, speak to me."

A muffled, "Jesse, I can't hold on much..."

Again he let out a mighty yell, and the ax rebounded once more off the
planking of the blocked door.

Larger hailstones began to fall.  They pinged like golf balls across
the soggy rough ground.  Several struck his shoulders and head. Instead
of making him wince with pain, they only whipped his fury.

This time when he brought the ax down, it stuck in the wood.  He yanked
it out and hurled it down again into the rent he'd made.  On the third
swing, the board split.

Torn LOoKED UP at the dull metal sticking through the thick board
overhead.  Her arms were outstretched, her muscles burning as she
grasped the frame of the doorway.

She kicked her feet sluggishly to keep her head above the muddy water.
Her arms ached.  Her shoulders ached.  Her neck felt stiff and sore.

The ax head disappeared, then reappeared with an earsplitting crack. It
wriggled in the splintered gash like an infuriated snake.  Tori started
to relax, only to sink.

Water invaded her nose and she began to sputter.  Then the board split
and she was looking up at Jesse's shadowed face.  She watched with
inexpressible relief as he grasped the shattered edges of the plank and
wrenched them farther apart, then sat across them and used his feet and
hands to widen the gap.

Suddenly his arm was reaching down.  She put her hand forward, only to
sink in water over her head.  A strong hand grasped her right wrist and
pulled her out of her slimy grave.

She crumpled, weak and trembling, against his wet, hard body.  He
scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the ranch house.  Only
when they were under the protective roof of the porch did he put her
down.  But he didn't let her go.

FOR SEVERAL MINUTES they held each other.  Finally, reluctantly, Jesse
released his crushing grip on her.

"Querida, darling, are you all right?"  he asked, unaware he was
speaking Spanish.

"I'm fine," she assured him, the words wobbling through a teary
smile.

"Now."

"You haven't been harmed?"  He lifted her hands to his lips to kiss
them and saw the bloody, jagged nails, the ugly marks on her wrists.

"Oh, God?  he gasped.

"You are hurt!  There's a gash on your head, too!"

"VIi be fine."  Tori took a deep breath.

"I'll get you to the emergency room."

"No," she said.

"There's no need, really.  But how did you know I was here?"

"I found your car a couple of blocks from Espy's apartment.  It was
stripped.  Totaled.  I'm sorry."

She stared at her hands.

"It's not important now."

"From the things Espy told me, I figured you'd probably been brought
here."

"You know then who--" "Yes," he said, hugging her to him, wishing that
was the worst he had to tell her.

"But I've got some more bad news."

Even filthy and drenched, she was beautiful.  He dreaded the pain he
knew he was about to bring.

"Your father's in the hospital.  He's had a problem."

She clutched his arm, her tired blue eyes round with renewed fear.

"What do you mean?"

He looped his hand around her neck, felt the bunched, quivering
muscles.

"Tori, he's had a heart attack.  But he's doing fine.  He's going to be
okay."

She wilted, nearly tumbled over.  But he grabbed her, took her in his
arms again and stroked her back.

"He might need surgery.  Lydia's with him."

She sobbed into his shoulder.

"I want to see him, Jesse.  Right away.  Please."

He pressed her body close to his and led her to his truck.

"We'll stop by your house so you can get cleaned up.  He shouldn't see
you looking like this.  I'll need to make some telephone calls, then
we'll go to see him."

III

WINSLOW CARR'S pale cheeks were wet with tears as he held his
daughter's hand.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?  I was so worried.  I was sure somebody
had kidnapped you."

"I'm fine, Dad.  How about you?"

"Much better now that you're here.  What happened?"

"It's a long story," Tori said.

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow.  You just rest now."

"You're not hurt?"

"No," she assured him.

"I'm perfectly fine."  She carefully avoided bringing attention to her
scratched and nail-chipped fingers.  Her eyes brimming, she said, "Dad,
I love you" and put her cheek to his.

"Tomorrow I'll answer all your questions," she told him, regaining her
composure.

"Right now I want you to get a good night's sleep."

"I will--now."

Jesse was behind her, his wrists resting gently on her shoulders.

"Take good care of my girl, you hear?"  Winslow whispered.

"You have my promise, sir."

"Go home now," Winslow said.

"And take Lydia with you before she drops."  He smiled shakily at
her.

"I love you woman."

Lydia made no attempt to hold back her tears.  She bent and kissed him
"I love you too."

SHa KRAUS WAS WAITING outside the hospital when they emerged.  He
immediately noted the on Ton's hands.

"Are you sure you don't want medical attention?"

asked her.

"I'm sure."

"Then I need you to come down to the station give a formal
statement."

"We have to drop Mrs.  Anderson off first," said.

"I'm going with you" Lydia declared.

"It's really not necessary," Tori told her.

"You must be exhausted."

Jesse looked at the older woman.

"Beware the wrath of Lydia," he said laughingly.

Lydia smiled in appreciation.

"Let's go."

Ten minutes later they were in the sheriff's office.

"Now, what happened?"  asked Kraus.

"Where to begin?"  Tori said, then told them about being attacked in
the parking lot outside the office and waking up, bound and gagged in
the storm cellar at the Amorado ranch.  She smiled at Jesse, reached
out and touched him on the arm.

"But Jesse rescued me in time."

Lydia twirled her rings viciously.

"Obviously Martin wanted to keep you from signing the Riverbend
contract."

Tori shook her head.

"The PrOblem was not that I'd sign, but that I'd insist on Jesse being
a part of it."

Lydia looked blankly at Tori.

"I don't understand."

"Yesterday afternoon I proposed bringing Jesse into the Riverbend
project as a contractor.  Dad agreed.  So did Burton.  In fact, he was
very supportive.  The big question was whether Jesse would go along
with it."

"I would have," Jesse acknowledged.

"But Burton couldn't allow that to happen," Tori declared.

"Butt?"  Lydia exploded.

"Are you saying it was Butt who kidnapped you and left you to die?"

Tori nodded sadly.

"When Dad agreed to offer Jesse

a Riverbend construction contract, he said he preferred dealing with
local businesses whenever possible.  That made me wonder why more
locals weren't part of the deal.  So I researched.  Burton closed all
out-of-Wwn contracts."  Lydia lifted her shoulders.

"Win's never liked that kind of negotiating," she pointed out, "and
Burt's good at it."

"I suspect he's also into kickbacks.  Dad never caught him in a lie, so
he trusted him.  But even if Burton was honest in the past, Riverbend
was too big a temptation.  When one of the corporations he'd bargained
with went bankrupt, he was forced to get signatures on current
contracts quickly, before anyone else had a chance to pull out, and
that left an opening for Jesse.  Burton knew if Jesse became an active
participant in the operation, he'd pick up on the corruption and blow
the whistle.  So he had to make sure Jesse couldn't do that."

"But why kidnap you?"  Lydia questioned.

"Why not Jesse?"

"I'm not the one Hazlitt's really afraid of," Jesse explained.

"He's been sucking everything he could out of Santa Marta and I wasn't
able to stop him.  Then Tod shows up, and suddenly the chances of him
getting nailed go up astronomically.  So he's got to remove her from
the equation."

Lydia wrinkled her brow.

"But to leave her helpless in a cellar on your ranch... This is about
more than just Rived>end and money, isn't it?"

Tori bowed her head, then looked up.

"You've got to remember Burton comes from a very poor background.

For him, Jesse and the people of the barrio represent the kind of
social pride and seif-confidence
Burton never found at home.  What could ... what should I have
developed into admiration turned into jealousy and hatred."

Tori looked at the smooth tan complexion of the man holding her
hand.

"My falling in love with Jesse may well have pushed Burton over the
edge.  I broke up with him a long time ago because... I couldn't define
my reasons then, but I think I can now.  I was a trophy for him; not
the focus of real love."  Not the kind of love / I see in Jesse's eyes
at this very moment, she said to herself.  The love I feel whenever
we're together, every time I think about him.

"But how was Btm so sure nobody was going to be at the Amorado place?"
Lydia asked.

"Espy Mendez," Jesse said.

Kraus shook his head in exasperation.

"What's she got to do with this?"

"After I found Ton's Corvette, I went to Espy's apartment, thinking
Tori might be there.  I found a tie clasp with BH on it--Burton
Hazlitt.  Espy came out to our place the other day to assure me she had
nothing to do with Martin's tricks.  While she was there, she learned
the family was going to San Antonio for a week.  She passed the
information on to her new lover, Burton."

"That makes her an accessory to kidnapping," Kraus noted.

"Not if she didn't know what the information was going to be used for.
I don't think she did.  It was probably something she let slip in a
tirade about seeing Tori with my family."

"I hope you're right," Krans said.

"For her sake."

"So," Jesse concluded, "I put two and two together.

Hazlitt knew no one would be at the ranch and had to

get Tori out of the way.  What could be better than to make it look
like I'd taken her?"

"Okay," Kraus said.

"You've made a pretty good case against Hazlitt, but it'll never stand
up in court without some proof.  Do you have any?"

Tori shook her head unhappily.

"Will fingerprints do?"  Jesse asked.

"Fingerprints?"  Tori and Lydia exclaimed together.

Jesse looked at Tori.

"You were bound with tape."

"Yes," she said skeptically, then understood what he was driving at.
She brightened, only to have her hopes dashed.

"Oh, no.  It got soaked."

Jesse addressed the sheriff.

"One of your men said you can do wonders with forensics.  Hazlitt
probably wore gloves when he drove Tori away in her car and later when
he dropped it off in the barrio.  But I don't see how he could have
taped her up with gloves on.

Can you get prints off the sticky side of tape that's been
underwater?"

IT TOOK ANOTHER HOUR for Ton's statement to be typed and signed. Lydia,
finally giving in to her exhaustion, asked Rudy to call her a cab, but
he insisted on one of his deputies driving her home and checking the
place out before leaving her.

At last Jesse escorted Tori out of the sheriff's office.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said quietly as they walked
with arms around each other to his truck.

"You didn't think I'd let you did you?  I gave your father my word i'd
take care of you."  He gathered her in an embrace and pulled her
close.

"I love you" she said.

He opened the door on the passenger side.

"The only question is, whose bed do you want to sleep yours or mine?"

Her mouth curved at the edges.

"I want to sleep your bed, Jesse."

"Our bed," he replied, and took her home to Marta.

She stood beside him as he unlocked the front door aware of the
magnetic pull of his dark silhouette her mind and body.

He pushed the door open, stepped back and her close to his chest.  With
a purr of anticipated pleasure, she snuggled her head against his
shoulder, took in the scent of his hair and skin and ran her hand up to
and around his neck.

Two steps into the house, he closed the door with his foot.  He didn't
bother to turn fights on as he carried her to the bedroom.  Trembling,
she unbuttoned his shirt and ran her palms across the wiry mat of
coarse black hair.  Her tongue tickled his neck, then coursed down the
taut center of his body.

His fingers fumbled as they undid the buttons of her blouse.  He
unclasped her bra and gathered her breasts in a delicate caress.
Clutching his shoulders, she threw back her head when he brought his
mouth down and ran his tongue around their sensitive peaks.  At her
whimper, he looked up, framed her face between his hands and whispered,
"I love you Tori."

THEY LAY ABED UNTIL NOON the next day, sleeping in each other's arms,
touching each other's bodies, making love.  Afterward, Jesse drove her
to the county jail.

He parked in the lot in back and they walked arm in ann around the
side.  Tori could feel the tension in his grasp.

She looked up.  His face was firm, set.

"You okay?"

"It's not even a nice place to visit," he tried to joke.

Inside the front door, she asked to see the sheriff.

Rudy Kraus appeared a minute later.

"Did you arrest Burton?"

"About an hour and a haft ago," he answered as he rubbed a hand across
yesterday's five o'clock stubble.

"That was a smart call you made, Amorado."  He turned to Tori.

"Good thing you tore the tape instead of unwinding it.  Got several
sets of clear prints from two pieces."

"Has he made a statement yet?"  she asked.

"Only to Claim he's been set up.  Insists he's completely innocent. His
lawyer's with him now."

"I want to see him."

"He's not going to tell you anything," Krans assured her.

"I have to ask him why he's done this to Dad and me."

Krans thought a moment.

"Let me see what I can do.  His lawyer may not like it."

As they waited on an uncomfortable bench, Jesse took her bruised hands
in his.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

She bowed her head in disagreement.

"Yes, I do.

Sheriff Kraus is probably right, I won't get any answers.

But this may be my last chance to talk to Burton face-to-face, instead
of through lawyers and maybe prison bats."

"I don't want him to hurt you.  Not ever again."

She looked into Jesse's dark, handsome face, at the full lips that
could be so gentle and sweet.  Her gaze settled on his deep, mysterious
eyes, eyes that said so many things at different times.  Her heart
fluttered at the memory of the joy and excitement in those eyes when he
made love to her.

"You can't promise me infinite safe," she told him gently.

"Pain is a part of life.  But I love you for wanting to protect me."
She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.

"All I can offer you" she said softly, "is my promise that I will never
intentionally hurt you.  I love you too much."

They were about to seal this new bond with another kiss when they heard
a muffled cough.  Sheriff Kraus looked down, haft amused, haft
apologetic, and told Tori she could see Burton.

"You'll be watched through a one-way glass for your protection," he
said, "but your conversation won't be monitored."

Burton was sitting at a plain wooden table, his fingers moving
nervously in front of him: one foot tapping on the floor.  He looked
like a recalcitrant teenager cooling his heels in the principal's
office.  He'd obviously been obliged to leave his apartment in a
hurry.

For once he wasn't wearing a well-pressed suit and tie, just a
short-sleeved shirt and baggy pants.  Even his hair was untidy.  At
work she'd paid no attention to the tattoo on his biceps.  It had long
ago lost its fascination.

Now, as she stared at it, she decided the leopard had truly changed its
spots.  She also realized it was the tattoo she'd glimpsed when his ann
came down and struck her.

She sat on the chair across the table from him.

"Hello, Burton."

He looked at her with wary eyes.

"What do you want?"

"I think you know.  Why did you kidnap me and leave me to die?"

AO /

"I don't know what you're talking about.  I didn't leave you to die."

"You mean you hadn't planned on my drowning in that cellar?"

He said nothing.

"No one is listening," she said evenly.

When he looked up at her this time, the venom and ferocity in his eyes
shocked her.  What was he so angry about?  How long had that rage been
eating away at him?  She sat back, stunned, her hands dropping to her
thighs.

"Why do you hate me?"  she asked quietly.

He twiddled his fingers in front of him on the tabletop.

"I don't."

She gazed at him in wonder.

"Then what's this all about?"

He slammed his palms flat on the wooden surface.

"It's about power, Tori.  That's what life's about.  You were in the
military.  Haven't you figured that out yet?"

She shook her head.

"Life taught me that happiness is about love."

He laughed at her.

"Love is about power, too."  He stabbed a finger at her.

"It's the power to get people to do what you want them to do because
they want to do it for you."

She knew she should despise this man, but his words only brought
sorrow.

"That's not love, Burton.  That's manipulation."

His patronizing contempt said she was a fool, but his eyes avoided
hers.

She straightened up.

"I almost drowned."

"If you had," he spit out, "I wouldn't be here.  That damned Mexican
would."  He raised his head and snarled, "I wasn't refined enough for
you..."

He trailed off, aware he'd said too much.  Where she had been
imprisoned hadn't been made public, and she doubted the police
volUnteered that piece of information.

"What about Dad?"  she asked. "He's always been good to you."

"Why shouldn't he be?  I did all the work, came up with all the ideas.
I had to push him into Woodhill Terrace.  He made a lot of money on
that venture."

"So did you.  But it's not true that Dad didn't do anything.  He built
the company with hard work.  He respected your ideas, your drive, your
intelligence.  He gave you the freedom to grow and prosper.  He loved
yOU like a son."

Burton waved the notion off dismissively.

"He was ready to give up on Riverbend.  Do you know how much money we
could have raked in?"

She shook her head pityingly.

"He didn't make you a partner because it would profit him.  Yet you
were willing to trade his love and your own honor for a few extra
bucks.  I feel sorry for you Burton."

He jumped up from his chair, knocking it over behind him.

"Get out of here," Burton growled as a guard charged into the room.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JESSE WAS OUTSIDE THE DOOR when Tori emerged.  Until that moment she
hadn't realized how cold the jail was.  She welcomed his outstretched
arms and the warmth of his embrace.  Tipping his head, he planted a
kiss in her hair.  They held each other as the deputies and But Tori
lawyer streamed by to attend to the prisoner.

Jesse drove them to a small restaurant on the outskirts of town, where
they ate a quiet lunch.  She told him about her talk with Burton.

"Actually, he's right," she said as she pushed aside a haft-eaten
quiche and fruit plate.

Jesse swallowed the last morsel of fried catfish and wiped his mouth
with a napkin.

"About what."?"

She reached out and twined her fingers with his.

"Love is power," she told him.

"It's the power to share joy and happiness, the power to endure pain
and disappointment.  It's the power to like yourself for being who and
what you are.  I'm sorry he's never been able to experience that."

Jesse smiled softly.

"I love yoU."

"Torn SHOULD BE HERE in a few minutes," Jesse said.

"She and Lydia went shopping."

"No telling when they'll get back, then."  Winslow chuckled.  He was
sitting in the chair by the window.

The hospital gown and coarse robe of a week had been replaced by casual
slacks and an open-necked shirt.  He was due to be released in less
than an hour.

"That's okay.  It'll give us a chance to talk."

"You're looking better every day," Jesse said.  At Winslow's
invitation, he settled into the other armchair.

"How do you feel?"

"Better than I have in a long time."  Winslow held up a current
bestseller.

"This is just camouflage.  I've been doing a lot of thinking over the
past few days.

Lydia's right.  I should have taken a holiday a long time ago.  Maybe
then things would have turned out differently."

"Water under the bridge," Jesse observed.

"Do you think we can overcome our mistakes of the past?"

"The future is hopeless if we can't."

Winslow poured himself a glass of water from a plastic pitcher.

"I'm going to honor my commitments to the home owners in Santa Marta
and to the other investors of Riverbend," he said.

"I know we're being inundated with calls from people wanting to back
out of the project."

"You can fight them," Jesse replied.

"After all, the contracts were signed by a partner of the
corporation."

Winslow smiled ironically.

"Signed by a man who is about to be a convicted felon.  Legally I might
have a case, but morally I don't.  Besides, lawyers' fees will eat up
any gains.  I may have to declare bankruptcy before this is all over,
but I'm still going to honor my debts."

He took a sip of water.

"Jesse, tell me honestly, do you think Santa Marts can be salvaged?"

Jesse crossed one booted foot over the other knee.

"The barrio?  Some of it can be, and some of it needs to be torn
down."

"What do you think of Ton's idea for a revised Riv-erbend?"

"I think it's probably the solution we were both looking for all along.
She told me the reason you first invested in Santa Matra was because
you wanted to improve living conditions there."

"I'm sorry I didn't have the courage of my dreams.

Instead, I got caught up in Bur Tori illusion of making big profits.  I
forgot that money's a tool, not an end.

Did you know Tori and I wanted to offer you a construction contract for
Riverbend?"

Jesse nodded slowly.

"I would have gone for it," he acknowledged.

"I'd like to---" Tori and Lydia came through the open doorway, laughing
and bragging about the shopping bargains they'd found.  Tori gave Jesse
a hug, and he rested an arm around her hips.  Lydia went over to
Winslow and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"I was just going to tell Jesse," Winslow continued, "that I want to
reorganize Carr Enterprises into three divisions.  I'll keep sales.  I
never have been very comfortable with big projects.  I'm a salesman,
not a developer."

"You were going to sell houses in Riverbend," Tori reminded him.

He smiled almost nostalgically.

"It's not the same.

Big fancy houses for rich people are financial investments.  I'm not
talking about that.  I'm talking about home--for newlyweds and growing
families.  For a man there's pride in providing shelter and comfort for
his family.  For a woman, I expect it's the of a basic instinct to
civilize and nurture kith and She walked over to him and kissed him on
the head.

"Dad, you're a romantic."

Lydia's eyes glowed warmly as she looked al low.

"He's an incurable sentimentalist, a romantic the bone."

"Gee, I hope that's a blush I see on your face and not your blood
pressure going up again," Tori her father.

He blushed all the more and cleared his "About this reorganization...
Tori, I'd like you to handle our second division, investments and
management."  He looked over at her.

"Or at least set it up until you get a job with an airline."

She tightened her grip on her father's hand and smiled at Jesse.

"Jesse," Winslow said, looking straight at him, "I... we would like you
to take over a new third division--construction and restoration."

"Me?"  Jesse stared at him for a long moment, then rose and joined Tori
at the side of her father's chair.

She smiled up at him.

"There are two or three little problems," he said.

Tori pulled back, but not away.

"What kind of problems?"

"For one, I have no cash to invest--" Carr held up his hand.

"You have six houses worth half a million dollars.," Jesse laughed.

"That was under slightly different circumstances--" '"I'm prepared to
accept that valuationin trade for a third interest in Carr Bnterprises.
Which, by the way, may not be worth a plugged nickel if we go
bankrupt.

What's your second problem?"

"Money.  You said you wanted to rebuild the barrio.

So do I. But even using sweat equity, we're going to need capital. How"
"Well listen to this!"  Tori jumped in.

"My ad ver-rising campaign on the new Riverbend project is beginning to
pay off.  Lydia told me we'Ve been getting calls from residents and
outside investors interested in the venture."

Winslow smiled contentedly.

"Well, that's taken care of."  He looked at Jesse.

"Think it over, son--" "There is one other problem," Tori
interrupted.

Everyone stared at her.

"The name."

"The name?"  her father asked.

"I think we need a new image."

"What would you suggest?"

"C and A Enterprises sounds terrible," Lydia noted.

"Like a used-car lot."

Jesse chuckled.

"Carr and Amorado is a mouthful."

Tori pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"How about Car-mo rado Inc.?"

Winslow's eyes twinkled.  He looked at Jesse.

"Will that do?"

"It does have a nice ring to it."  He glanced from father to
daughter.

"I accept your offer, Mr.  Carr."

The older man rose and put out his hand.

"In that case you better call me Win ... partner."  They shook hands,
then, impulsively, Winslow put his arm around him.

Sheriff Kraus chose that moment to walk into the room.  His face froze
with surprise when he saw the two men embracing.

"Ahem."

The women, hidden behind the wide hospital door, laughed.  Tori stepped
forward.

"Pay them no Sheriff.  It's just one of those male-bonding things."

Rudy Kraus still didn't look very comfortable as he began his
announcement.

"I just thought you'd like know, Win, the D.A. has dropped the against
you.  As a matter of fact, he's turned the on Martin and is now using
your evidence and testimony from several other businesses in town to
add the charge of extortion against the councilman."

Lydia giggled.

"That's a twist even Henry ought to be able to admire."

"What's Martin's reaction?"  Jesse asked.

"Denies it all, of course.  Says it's a smoke screen by Carr
Enterprises to hide their own criminal activities.

But there've been enough complaints for the D.A."s office to subpoena
his records.  Martin submitted his resignation to the city council a
few minutes ago."

"Good riddance," Lydia snorted.

"I want to take you all out to dinner tonight," Win-slow announced.

"At the country club."

Lydia touched his ann.

"Win, I really don't think---" "Nonsense, dear.  We've got a lot to
celebrate."  He patted her hand.

"I promise not to order a big steak or ask for extra butter and sour
cream on my baked potato---4ho ugh after this hospital food, it sounds
awfully tempting."  He grinned.

"Have you told them yet?"

She beamed at him.

"Told us what?"  Tori asked.

Her father glanced at Lydia and received a smiling nod.

"I've asked Lydia to marry me, and she's honored me by accepting."

Tori wrapped her arms around Lydia and her father offered his
congratulations and kissed Lydia on the cheek.

"All that shopping we just did," Lydia explained to Tori as they wiped
away joyful tears, "was for the Caribbean cruise your father's taking
me on for our honeymoon."

AFTER DROPPING the newly engaged couple off at Lydia's house with a
promise to pick them up for dinner, Jesse and Tori stopped off at Carr
Enterprises.  He surveyed the office layout while she checked the mail
and messages stacked on the reception desk.  One message was from Sam
Hargis at the airport.

"Don't tell me something's happened to my plane," Tori mumbled as she
dialed his number.  She caught him just as he was leaving for the
day.

"Look," he said after they'd exchanged pleasant-ties, "I know you said
you weren't interested, but I thought I'd make the offer anyway.  I
need another pilot to work my charter service.  It will only be
part-time and the pay isn't as much as you can make with one of the big
airlines, but you'd be able to set your own schedule."

Toti's heart began to pound.

"You interested?"

She looked over at Jesse, who was idly opening closet doors and peeking
into file cabinets.

"Can I call you back later?"

"Sure thing.  Take your time."

Jesse came over just as she was hanging up.

"You'll definitely have to redecorate Hazlitt's office," he said.

"Get some color in there.  Ready to go?"

She picked up a legal-size envelope from the desk, tapped it on the tip
of her thumb and stuck it unopened in her purse.  The logo and return
address indicated it came from the airline she'd interviewed with in
Dallas.

From its thickness, she knew it was a job offer with a contract for her
to review.  A rejection, she calculated would be a one-page letter.
Suddenly it didn't seem important anymore.

Her mind was filled with only thoughts of Jesse when she locked the
office and climbed into his truck.

She could hardly respond coherently to his enthusiastic plans for
Carmorado, Inc.  as they drove to his house on Otero Street.

He waited until they were in the living room before he took her in his
arms.  She looked up at him, eager for his touch.

He brought his mouth down to hers.  Their breath mingled.  The kiss was
languorous, arousing.  At last they separated long enough for him to
speak.

"I love you Tori."  He nibbled the tender skin just below her ear.

"I want to marry you."

Her heart stopped, then revived with a wild throbbing.

Pulsing heat pounded in her chest, filling her with fever.

"Oh, yes," she murmured as he kissed her earlobe.

"Yes!"  she cried.

"I love you so much."

They clung to each other in the middle of the living room, savoring the
union that only a man and woman can share.

It was later, as they lay beside each other, that Jesse thought to ask,
"What was that letter you brought from the office?"

So he had noticed.

"It doesn't matter now," she said dreamily.

"I've finally come home."