oney and Dash flew into Tulsa the day after Christmas for his son's wedding. They barely spoke to each other on the flight, and she suspected he regretted inviting her. She should have told him she couldn't come, but she had followed him just as she always did, ready to receive whatever crumbs of affection he tossed in her direction.

As she got off the plane, she told herself that anything was better than spending the rest of the holiday with her family. Even the birthday party the cast and crew had given her three weeks ago hadn't dulled the memory of what had happened. Since then, she had spent most of her time at home sequestered in her bedroom.

The Tulsa airport was crowded with holiday travelers. Inevitably, many of them recognized Dash, who was unmistakable with his tall stature, his Stetson, and an aged shearling jacket. She walked anonymously at his side. With her eyes shielded by large sunglasses and hair tumbling in sexy disarray, no one in the crowd recognized her as the tomboy Janie Jones.

She had chosen her clothes defiantly, not only because they were so unlike Janie's outfits but because she knew how much he would dislike them. A soft, golden-brown oversized sweater slipped off one shoulder. She wore it with a pair of slim-cut black leather pants, a belt of gold links, matching gold hoop earrings, and little black flats with a bronze diamond appliqued over the vamp. A fur jacket was draped over her arm, completing an ensemble that looked both sexy and expensive.

Dash, predictably, had frowned when he met her at LAX. "I don't see why you had to wear something like that. Those pants are too damn tight."

"Sorry, Daddy," she had mocked him.

"I'm not your father!"

"Then stop acting like one."

He had given her an angry glare and looked away.

Now the holiday travelers gathered around him. "We love your show, Mr. Coogan."

"Could I have your autograph for my daughter? She wants to be an actress someday. Of course she's only eight, but—"

"We sure like that Janie. Is she a dickens in real life, too?"

Dash glanced over his shoulder at Honey, who had moved off to the side and was attracting her own share of attention from several of the men, although not because of her celebrity. "She's a dickens, all right."

Later, as they got into the rental car, he began to scold her again. "I don't know why you couldn't have worn something respectable. Everybody was looking at you like you were—I don't know."

"Like I was your Playmate of the Month?"

He threw the Lincoln into gear and refused to respond.

The wedding was scheduled for seven that evening. They checked in at the same hotel where the reception was being held. Honey discovered that Dash had booked them separate rooms on different floors, as if closer accommodations would contaminate him. After getting rid of their luggage, they headed for Wanda Ridgeway's house.

Thoroughbred Acres was one of Tulsa's newer upscale housing developments. As they drove through the entrance pillars, Honey noticed that all the streets were named after famous racehorses. The Ridgeway house, a large colonial, sat on Seattle Slew Way. Although it was only noon, the Christmas lights surrounding the porch were lit, and milk cans decorated with sprigs of greenery sat in a cluster beside the front door. As Honey followed Dash up the walk, she recalled what she knew about him and his first wife.

He and Wanda had met when the rodeo Dash was riding in had come to the small Oklahoma town where she lived. By the time he had left, she was pregnant, a fact he didn't find out about until three months later when she tracked him down in Tulsa. He was nineteen, she eighteen.

According to Dash, Wanda was the sort of woman who wanted to stay in one place all her life and organize charitable fund-raisers. From the beginning she had hated his nomadic life-style, and the marriage was over even before their second child was born. She had never forgiven Dash, not for his wandering eye or for throwing her life off track.

Her enmity was carefully concealed, however, as she admitted Dash and Honey into the two-story foyer and greeted her ex-husband with a hug. "Randy, darlin', I'm so glad to see you."

She was plump and pretty, a bit overdressed in ruffled silk. Her hair was arranged in the sprayed blond helmet so comfortable on the heads of well-to-do women in the Southwest, and her fingers flashed with diamonds. The Ridgeway Christmas tree stood directly behind her, decorated entirely with wooden hearts, burlap bows, and miniature flour sacks.

"Josh said you wouldn't show up, and you know how Meredith is with all that prayin', but I told him his daddy wouldn't miss his wedding, not for anything. And his bride, Cynthia, is just the sweetest thing. Josh! Meredith! Your daddy's here. Yoo-hoo! Oh, damn, Meredith's still at her Bible study and Josh had to make a last-minute trip to the travel agent."

She turned to Honey. "Now who's this? You didn't get married again, did you?"

But unlike the fans at the airport, Wanda had the eyes of a hawk, and even before Honey had slipped off her sunglasses, she recognized her ex-husband's traveling companion. Her lips thinned ever so slightly. "Well, if it isn't your sweet little costar. What a surprise. And aren't you the dearest little thang. Edward, you'll never guess who's here? Edward!"

A middle-aged man with thinning hair, gentle eyes, and a slight paunch appeared in the foyer from the back of the house. "Well, hello there, Dash. I had the fan on in the bathroom and didn't hear you come in."

"Edward, look who Randy brought with him. Little Honey Jane Moon, one of your favorite TV people next to J. R. Ewing andThree's Company. Isn't she just cute as a baby's behind?"

"Hello, Miss Moon, and welcome. Well, now, this is an honor. Yes it is. My, you sure do look grown-up in real life." His glance was admiring but not lecherous, and Honey decided she liked Edward, despite the fact that his red bow tie was embedded with blinking green lights.

After their coats and Dash's Stetson had been disposed of in a closet lined with peg hooks and organizer shelves, Wanda led them into a cavernous family room complete with every variety of painted wooden goose, straw wreath, and wicker basket. The room smelled of clove-scented potpourri bubbling away in ceramic pots printed with fat red hearts.

Wanda pointed toward a bar at one end decorated with pewter tankards and golf prints. "Get Randy a drink, Edward. And there's some soda pop in the refrig for Honey."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather have wine," Honey said, deciding she'd better assert herself before Wanda bulldozed her six feet under.

Dash frowned at her. "A Seven-Up'd be fine for me." He sank down onto a couch strewn with ruffled red-checked gingham pillows. Honey took the seat next to him and contemplated the character of a woman who would offer liquor to a recovered alcoholic.

The telephone rang. Wanda bustled off to answer it, and Edward was making enough noise with an ice-cube tray for Honey to whisper to Dash without being overheard.

"I don't know how you ever had the nerve to say that I talk more than any of your ex-wives. Wanda could set a land-speed record."

For the first time that day, he smiled at her. "Wanda settles down after a while. You never do."

Wanda had barely returned to the room before a young woman appeared in the doorway. She was thin and, at first glance, rather plain, with auburn hair and a wan complexion. Closer inspection, however, revealed fine, regular features that would have been attractive if they had been enhanced with a few basic cosmetics. When she saw Dash sitting on the couch, her pale lips drew up in a smile and she became almost pretty.

"Daddy?"

Dash had jumped up the moment he saw her, and he met her in the center of the room, where she disappeared into his arms like a rabbit diving into a hole. "Hi, there, pumpkin. How's my girl?"

As Honey watched them together, the ache of familiar pain spread through her. Despite separations and divorces, these people were still a family, and they had bonds that nothing could ever break.

"Praise the Lord," she said softly. "I knew He would bring you here today."

"A seven-forty-seven brought me here, Merry."

"No, Daddy. Our Lord did." An expression of intense certainty settled over her, and Honey watched curiously to see how Dash would respond.

He chose to retreat. "Meredith, I want you to meet somebody special. This is Honey Jane Moon, my costar on the show."

Meredith turned. As she spotted Honey, she looked as if her father had just kicked in her rabbit's hutch. Her pale lips narrowed until they almost disappeared, and her gray eyes grew opaque with hostility. Honey felt fried, as if Meredith had hit her with a lethal dose of electrical current.

"Miss Moon. The Lord be with you."

"Thank you," Honey replied. "You, too."

Wanda tossed down a Jack Daniels in one gulp. "No more Jesus stuff, Meredith. You could take the fun out of an orgy."

"Mother!"

Dash chuckled. Wanda looked over at him and smiled. For a few seconds the hostilities fell away and Honey had a brief glimpse of what it must have been like for them when they were young.

She was glad to see the moment fade as Wanda began outlining the afternoon's schedule. Relatives would be arriving any minute, she told them. The caterers had set up a buffet table in the dining room and she hoped no one was allergic to shellfish. Everybody needed to be at the church by six-thirty sharp. The dinner-reception at the hotel was dressy and she hoped dear little Honey had brought something special

to wear.

Dear little Honey excused herself to use the powder room. A conch shell full of pastel soap conch shells sat on the basin along with another bubbling container of potpourri. The room smelled like pumpkin pie served with lilacs. When she emerged, Wanda had gone to the dining room to badger the caterer and the groom had returned.

Although Meredith Coogan bore little resemblance to her father, her twenty-four-year old brother Josh looked like a blurred and softened version of Dash, one in which all of the older man's angular lines and hard planes had been tamed and weakened. Josh acknowledged the introduction to Honey and was making a polite inquiry about their trip when Wanda returned to the room and interrupted.

"Did Josh tell you about his new job with Fagan Can?"

"No, I don't believe he did," Dash replied.

"He's going to be a supervisor in their accounting department. Tell your father all about it, Josh. Tell him what an important man you're going to be."

"I don't think I'll be all that important, sir. But it's steady work and Fagan is a well-established firm."

Wanda gestured toward him with a glass of bourbon. "Tell your father what a nice office they're giving you."

"It's very nice, sir."

"On the corner of the third floor," Wanda reported.

"The corner?" Dash tried to look suitably impressed. "Well, now."

"Two windows." She held up her fingers in case Dash couldn't count.

"Two. Isn't that something."

The doorbell rang, and Wanda once again excused herself. Dash and Josh regarded each other uncomfortably, each at a loss for anything more to say.

Honey stepped in to ease the tension. "Too bad you didn't have Josh working for you in your wild days, Dash. Maybe he would have kept the scum suckers away."

Dash smiled.

Josh looked puzzled. "Scum suckers?"

"She's referring to my well-known problems with the IRS," Dash offered.

Josh's forehead crumpled in an earnest furrow. "You shouldn't joke about the IRS, sir. Not with everything you've been through. Tax problems aren't a laughing matter."

Dash glanced longingly toward the bar.

Wanda and Edward's relatives began to arrive until the house was rilled with a dozen more people. Honey's head had started to ache, and she tried to find sanctuary next to a silk ficus tree potted in a milk bucket. A brief lull fell over the room only to be broken by Meredith's small, sincere voice.

"I'm holding a prayer meeting in the living room at six o'clock. I'd like everyone to attend."

Wanda threw up her hands. "Don't be ridiculous, Meredith. I have a million things to do, and I certainly can't waste time praying."

One of the aunts giggled nervously. "I'm sorry, Meredith, but it's going to take me forever to do my hair."

Others chipped in with their excuses, obviously having already experienced one of Meredith's prayer sessions.

Dash took a few steps toward the door. "Honey and I have to go to the hotel to change, so it'll be easier if we just meet you all at the church."

Meredith looked crestfallen, and perhaps because Honey had been feeling so miserable herself, she experienced a moment's sympathy.

"The hotel's not that far away, Dash. We can stop here first."

Dash gave her his steeliest glare.

Meredith gazed at Honey, resentment oozing from every pore. "That's a wonderful idea," she said stiffly.

Dash, however, didn't think it was a wonderful idea at all, and as they drove to the hotel he told Honey he had no intention of going to Meredith's prayer meeting. "I love my daughter, but she's crazy when it comes to religion."

"Then I'll go by myself," she retorted stubbornly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Honey dressed for the wedding in the gown that she had once considered wearing to the ranch, a delicately beaded silvery-blue sheath the exact color of her eyes. She fluffed her hair and clipped crystal clusters to her ears, but even though the mirror told her that she looked almost beautiful, she wasn't reassured. When Dash saw her, he would find something to criticize. The neck would be too low, the skirt too tight, her jewelry too flashy.

Dash had made arrangements to hitch a ride to the church with one of Josh's ushers, so she returned to the house by herself, hoping she wouldn't regret the impulse that had led her to accept Meredith's invitation. Meredith's face fell when she realized that Honey had come alone.

"Sorry," Honey said. "I guess your father isn't much for prayer meetings."

Honey could almost see Meredith's internal struggle as she tried to reconcile her obvious dislike of Honey with her need to evangelize. She wasn't too surprised when evangelism won.

Meredith led her into a living room that looked as it had just come out of plastic wrappers and gestured toward the velour sofa. As they took seats at opposite ends, Honey experienced an almost irresistible urge to delve into her handbag for lipstick and mascara. Meredith's lack of cosmetics combined with her dowdy polyester print dress made her much homelier than she needed to be. Honey began to understand what Liz Castleberry had gone through with her.

Meredith spoke stiffly. "Are you saved, Miss Moon?"

Honey had always rather enjoyed theological discussions and she gave the question serious consideration. "That's not an easy question to answer. And please call me Honey."

"Have you given yourself to the Lord?"

She remembered that long-ago spring when she had prayed to Walt Disney. "I suppose it depends. I consider myself a spiritual person, Meredith, but my theology isn't all that orthodox. I guess I'm a searcher."

"Doubts come from the devil," Meredith said harshly. "If you live in faith, there's no need to question."

"I have to question. It's my nature."

"Then you'll go to hell."

"I don't want to offend you, Meredith, but I don't think anyone has the right to pass judgment on somebody else's salvation."

But Meredith refused to back down, and Honey gave up all hope of a stimulating discussion. For the next half hour, Meredith quoted scripture and prayed over her. Honey's headache returned, but after a while, everything about Meredith softened. She prayed fervently, her face infused with joy, a young woman blissed out on Jesus.

"Smile, Randy. Everybody's watching us, dammit."

"They want to see if I'm gonna body-slam you to the dance floor."

The cloying scent of Wanda's hair spray was making Dash's stomach go crazy. He sidestepped to avoid another couple and told himself he didn't need a drink.

Wanda winced. "You stepped on my goddamn foot. Watch yourself, will you? God, you're a terrible dancer."

"You're the one who wanted to put on a show. You had to let all your friends see how well you've managed your ex-husband. Got him dancing with you, eating right out of your hand like a tame little puppy dog."

The stiff social smile never left her face. "I hate it when you're like this. At your own son's wedding. You are so mean, Randy Coogan. You've always been a mean, cold-hearted, lying, cheating bastard."

"You're never going to let it go, are you? We've been divorced for nearly twenty years, but you still want my last drop of blood."

"That's the only thing besides tits all your ex-wives have in common."

Honey swept past with Josh's best man, and the wedding photographer snapped her picture. Dash figured it would show up in one of the tabloids sooner or later. Several times during the fall photographers had caught her when she looked a lot older than seventeen. Instead of questioning her age, they ran the

photos with captions like "Child star growing up too fast" or "Honey Jane Moon out past her bedtime."

Dash's jaw tightened. For somebody who didn't know how to dance, Honey had been doing a good job of it for almost four hours. And that wasn't all she was doing. More than a few times, he'd seen her reaching for a champagne glass.

All evening there had been something wild about her that he didn't like—the way she tossed her head, the throaty laughter that seemed to be coming from a woman instead of a kid. He tried to tell himself that he was just imagining the way all the men were looking at her. After all, she wasn't the most beautiful woman there, not even in that sparkly blue dress that fit too damn tight over her butt. She was cute, no doubt about it, but she was too little and baby-faced to be beautiful. He liked women who looked like women. Hell, there were lots of women who were prettier than Honey.

Still, he couldn't deny that there was something about her that might attract a certain type of man. The type who might like baby-faced little girls more than twenty years too young for them.

A voice that hadn't bothered him since the night of Liz's party when he'd caught Honey kissing that boy began to whisper to him. A drink will make you forget about her. You don't need her when you can have me. It was the siren's voice, the deceiving voice all drunks carry around inside them. I can make you feel better. I can take away the pain.

Wanda's words jabbed at him like her mascara-spiked eyelashes. "I don't know how you could bring her here and humiliate your own flesh and blood. Everybody's acting like Honey's your real daughter. Poor Meredith's been on the verge of tears all night."

Wanda called out a cheery greeting to one of the guests and then lowered her voice to a vindictive hiss.

"I suppose I should be grateful that the people here don't know you as well as I do. I can see what's going on in your mind, and it makes me sick. How can you look at yourself in the mirror? She's younger than your own daughter."

He caught the enticing scent of the bourbon she had been drinking cutting through her hair spray, and his mouth went dry. "There's nothing going on in my mind—not like you mean—so just you get your own mind out of the gutter."

Her hand clamped his, trying to hurt. "Don't bullshit me, Randy. You might be able to fool everybody else here, but you can't fool me. I've seen the way you look at her when you think nobody's watching. And I'll tell you this, mister. It curdles my stomach. They're all cooing about how cute she is and how sweet it is that you act like father and daughter in real life. But that's not the way it is between you two

at all."

"Now that's where you're wrong," he sneered. "It's just like that between us. Exactly. I've practically been raising that girl."

"Bullshit," she hissed through her frozen smile. "You make my skin crawl."

He'd had all he could take. He spotted Edward approaching with the bride in his arms and stepped in front of them. "The night's almost over, Edward, and I haven't had a chance to dance with my new daughter-in-law."

Wanda glared at him, but there were too many people around for her to dig in. The women changed places. Josh's new wife, Cynthia, was a pretty, vivacious blonde with blue eyes and big teeth. As he drew her close, he caught the scent of a new brand of hair spray.

"Did Josh tell you about his job, Father Coogan?" she asked as they took their first steps.

He winced at her form of address. "Why, yes. He did mention it." The netting on her headpiece poked dangerously near his eye, and he drew back his head. He felt as if he had been at the mercy of women with sharp points and razor edges all night. Honey whipped by in a soft cloud of champagne bubbles, laughing and dancing for all she was worth.!!!Forget about her, the siren whispered. Let me soothe you. I'm smooth and soft, and I go down easy.

"... Fagan Can is an important company, but you know Josh. Sometimes he needs a little push, so I told him when he was interviewing, I said, 'Now, Josh, you go in there and you look those men right in the eye and let them know you mean business.'" She winked. "The company's giving him a corner office."

"So I understand."

"An office with"—she lowered her voice to a stage whisper—"two windows."

The dance was endless. She chattered on about corner offices, china patterns, and tennis lessons. The ballad finally drew to a close, and she bustled off to claim her new husband. Josh sprang to her side, gazing at her earnestly to make certain he hadn't committed some unknown offense.

Congratulations, son, Dash thought sadly.!!!You managed to marry your mother, after all.

He had to have a drink.

One of Cynthia's bridesmaids passed by and he grabbed her. She giggled at the honor of dancing with the legendary Dash Coogan, but he barely noticed because the siren's voice had grown more insistent, and he could feel all his years of sobriety slipping away.!!!Come to me, lover. I'm all the woman you need. I'll purr and I'll coo and I'll make you forget about Honey.

Honey swept by and shot him a hostile glare. Raucous, drunken laughter swirled around him, and the clatter of ice cubes was amplified in his head until it formed a crazed percussion to the music.

He hated to dance, but he moved from one bridesmaid to the next, afraid that if he stopped, the siren would claim him. The evening groaned on, and the bride and groom left. Before long, the guests began to depart. The seductive smell of liquor filled his lungs—wine, scotch, and whiskey overpowering the scents of food and flowers.

Just have one, the siren whispered. One won't hurt.

As the band finished its final set, the voice of the siren had grown so loud he wanted to clamp his hands over his ears. If he left the dance floor, he knew he would be lost.

"We haven't had a chance to talk, Daddy. Let's go talk."

He jumped as Meredith appeared from nowhere. His tongue felt cumbersome, and he was afraid she would notice he was sweating.

"We—we haven't danced, Merry. The evening's almost over and I haven't danced with my best girl."

She looked at him strangely. "The band's packing up. Besides, I told you earlier, Daddy. I don't believe in dancing."

"I forgot."

He had no choice but to follow her to one of the empty tables near the dance floor. Abandoned wineglasses and tumblers with amber residues floating in their bottoms sat on the linen tablecloths. They multiplied in front of his eyes until there seemed to be a battalion of them spread before him, like enemy soldiers on the march.

She pulled her skirt down over her knees as she took the seat next to him. "Stay at the house tonight, Daddy. You can have my room. Please. I hardly ever get to see you."

His fingertips brushed against a glass with an inch of precious watered-down liquor in the bottom. "I—I don't think that's a good idea. Your mama and I don't do too well when we're cooped up together."

"I'll keep her away from you. I promise."

"Not this time."!!!Pick me up, lover. Just one little sip and you'll forget all about her.

Her voice hardened. "It's Honey, isn't it? You've got plenty of time to spend with her, but not with me. You think she's perfect—a chip right off the old block. She talks like you. She even drinks like you. It's too bad she's not your daughter instead of me."

The glass burned his fingers. "Don't be childish. This doesn't have anything to do with Honey."

"Then spend some time with me tomorrow morning."

The world was reduced to the shimmering liquid in the glass before him and the agonizing need that pounded in his skull. "I'd love to spend time with you, Merry. I just don't want to do it praying."

Her voice broke. "You have to accept the Lord, Daddy, if you're going to have life eternal. I pray for you all the time. I tremble for you, Daddy. I don't want you to end up in hell."

"Hell's relative," he said harshly.!!!Gotcha!

His fingers clamped around the glass. It fit into his palm like a million old memories. Sweat broke out on his forehead as the siren gobbled him up. He couldn't stop himself, and he raised his head, ready to lift the tumbler to his lips, but before it got there, he spotted Honey on the other side of the nearly deserted room.

She was standing by the windows with a young stud smeared all over her like baby oil. His beautiful little Honey with the sassy mouth and big heart wasn't doing one thing to get away from him, just smearing herself closer and rubbing against him.

Meredith began to pray.

He shot up from the chair, knocking over the glass.

"Daddy!"

He barely heard her as he stalked across the room. The walls spun around him. His shirt clung to his chest beneath his jacket.

Come back! the siren wailed.!!!Don't go to her! I'm the one who'll never leave you! Only me!

When he reached Honey's side, he didn't ask permission or beg anyone's pardon. With one hard yank, he pulled her away from the slimy bastard who was trying to dry-hump her right there in front of everybody and hauled her toward the door.

She made a small gasp, but he didn't give a shit if he hurt her. He didn't give a shit about anything except getting Honey away and putting an end to the jealousy that was eating him up.

"Dash, what's—"

"Shut up. You're acting like a goddamn whore."

She looked stunned, and then her eyes narrowed. "You bastard."

He wanted to whip the back of his hand right across her snotty little mouth. The silver chain on her evening purse had slipped from her shoulder and the purse bumped against the side of his leg, but he ignored it. Wanda was trying to get his attention, and several of the departing guests spoke to him. He stalked past them without replying.

He got her out into the hallway and around the corner, then dragged her down a carpeted ramp while the delicate beading on her little slip of a dress rustled in protest. Just as they reached a back set of elevators, he saw that she held an open bottle of champagne in one hand, and the siren gave a throaty, triumphant laugh.!!!Gotcha again!

His heart slammed against his ribs as he thrust her into the elevators. The doors slid shut; he stabbed the button.

And then he closed his hand into a fist.