oney had just finished making a phone call to one of the food vendors when she heard a banging on the back door of the Bullpen. "Come on in."

The door swung open and Arthur Lockwood entered. Even in the middle of a South Carolina amusement park, he managed to look like a Hollywood agent. Maybe because he always seemed to be waving papers.

"The people who are renting the rides are here," he said, "and you have to sign off on the carousel."

"The carousel wasn't supposed to be delivered until tomorrow." She took the papers and scrawled her name across the bottom of them.

Arthur shrugged as she handed them back. "I don't work here. I'm just the messenger boy. When you get back to L.A., promise me that you won't tell anybody that I've been running around negotiating with hot dog vendors and Good Humor men. It spoils my image as a shark."

"I promise. And thanks, Arthur."

Arthur had shown up at the park two days ago to go over her contract for the television movie Eric had chosen as her comeback vehicle, the project he had discussed with her last Christmas about the Japanese internment camp. Filming would begin in a month. It was a wonderful script, but the part of the North Dakota farm wife seemed so far beyond her abilities she was glad that she was too exhausted to worry about it.

Arthur could have discussed the details of the contract with her by phone, and the fact that he had decided to put in a personal appearance told her that he hadn't been certain she would sign the contract

in the end. But a deal was a deal, and no matter how painful the consequences, she wouldn't welsh.

Incredibly, Arthur hadn't uttered a single word of rebuke about the agreement she had made with Eric. He'd even approved the paperwork that made it official. Apparently the men talked frequently, but Arthur hadn't discussed the details of their conversations with her, and she hadn't asked. She tried to feel relieved that Arthur would be dealing with Eric instead of herself.

She wished she could ask him about Eric directly, but she couldn't seem to find the right words. Three months ago, at the end of January, Lilly had held a widely publicized press conference in which she had revealed the sexual abuse she had suffered as a child. According to reports, both Eric and her mother had been at her side during the press conference. There was no mention of the accusations Lilly had made against Eric, so Honey could only assume that those accusations had been the result of Lilly's own childhood trauma and that Eric had his children back.

She felt the sting of tears and busied herself with the clipboard that held a stack of grimy papers. "I hope Eric doesn't have any more projects lined up for me."

"Uh—we're talking." Arthur grew extremely interested in his Rolex. "It's getting late, and I have a plane to catch."

"Is he— You said he'd been injured."

"I told you, Honey. He's fine. It wasn't serious." He waved the carousel papers and kissed her cheek.

"I'll hand these over on my way out. You take care now. Don't wear yourself out with the festivities this weekend."

He frowned at her, and she knew he was unhappy with the way she looked. Once again, she was finding herself unable to sleep. She was always on edge, and only the trips she continued to make to the hospital offered her any pleasure. She alternated between exhaustion and an almost manic aggressiveness that left her feeling as if she were about to jump out of her skin. But only by working hard could she drive away thoughts of Eric.

"I'll be fine." She saw Arthur off and then, after making another phone call, left the Bullpen herself.

She had decided to make an event of the reopening of Black Thunder on Saturday, three days from now. Since she was already deeply in debt, a few thousand more wouldn't make any difference. The county office of family services had given her a list of seventy-five needy families, and she had invited them all to enjoy an afternoon at the park. The event wouldn't be elaborate, but everything would be free: the food, a few rented rides for the younger children, some game booths, and, of course, Black Thunder.

As she walked back to the coaster, every part of her ached with a weariness brought about as much by tension as physical labor. Today was Wednesday. If all went well, Black Thunder would have its first test run that afternoon. That would give them another few days to work out any problems before the families arrived on Saturday for the coaster's official reopening. Two weeks later she would leave for California.

A crew was putting the final touches of paint on the shiny black station house as she approached. Inside under protective plastic sheeting sat the refurbished train with its seven purple and black cars. The electricians had been wiring up the control board, while the engineers and project foreman were engaged in a series of checks and cross-checks. Today the new lift chain would be rotated for the first time by Black Thunder's original flywheel, using power fed through the hundred-horsepower motor. The brake inspection was in progress, and by late afternoon they hoped to send the train out, its cars loaded with sandbags for its first run.

Only a fraction of the work crew remained, and without the shrill whine of power saws and the pounding of hammers, the construction site was abnormally quiet. She stopped next to a pile of scrap waiting to be hauled away and gazed at the enormous piece of artwork that hung over the entrance to the station house.

It was wonderful, even better than the artwork over the old House of Horror. The coaster stretched the length of the painting, rearing and bucking like a wild mustang against a terrifying sky of boiling clouds and runaway lightning bolts. Executed in violent purples, blacks, and stormy grays, the painting had the same uncontrollable energy as the ride. It had arrived from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, in the back

of a construction truck. The bottom right hand corner held the signature of the artist—Gordon T. Delaweese. Gordon's talents were just one more thing she had been wrong about.

She remembered her last conversation with Chantal, a nonstop monologue in which her cousin had described all the wonders of the beauty school she was attending to learn how to do hair. Honey wearily rubbed her eyes. How many times had Dash told her that she should stop trying to run other people's lives?

Sandy Compton, the project foreman, came toward her. "Honey, we're about ready to load the cars with sandbags and send out the train."

She felt a combination of anticipation and anxiousness. It was finally going to happen.

"Don't be surprised if the train can't make the entire run the first time," Sandy said. "Remember that the track's stiff, and we have to make adjustments. We're expecting trouble on the lift hill, and the spiral may give us problems."

She nodded. "I understand."

For the next three hours she watched as Black Thunder slowly came to life. The sandbag-laden train struggled to climb the lift hill. It stopped, then moved, then stopped again until a problem in the motor was corrected. When the train finally cleared the crest and plunged into the first drop, she felt as if she had been lifted off the ground herself. It managed the rest of the course, including the spiral, and by the time it had coasted into the station, everyone was cheering.

Black Thunder was rolling again.

The rest of the week flew by for Honey. The coaster was ready for human occupants by Thursday and the engineers were euphoric after their first test run. Although sections of the track still needed to be smoothed to take out some of the brutality, it was exactly what they wanted—a fast, dangerous ride, barely in control.

Late Thursday afternoon, the foreman approached Honey to tell her they had passed the safety inspection. And then he asked her if she wanted to go out on the next test ride.

She shook her head. "Not quite yet."

She didn't ride it on Friday either. Although she spent the day rushing to get ready for Saturday afternoon's celebration, it wasn't her work load that made her refuse, but the fact that there were too many people around. The board operator who would be running the ride had agreed to come to the park early Saturday morning before anyone else arrived. Only then, when she could be alone, would she take her ride.

She gazed around her. More than half the park was fenced off for safety reasons, but this section had sprung to life before her eyes. The equipment for the food vendors sat in place not far from Black Thunder's station house, and a rented carousel stood where the old one had once run. They had installed an inflated Moonwalk for the smaller children, and a variety of game booths, which were going to be run by members of a local church. But the real attraction was Black Thunder.

The coaster had cost her a million dollars to rebuild. She was broke and in debt, but she didn't regret anything. At dawn tomorrow she would climb into that first car and see if she could touch the eternal that would finally let her make peace with Dash's death.

She saw a little girl, one of the workmen's children, gazing up at the coaster. The child had craned her neck at such a sharp angle that the ends of her straight dark hair brushed the waistband of her jeans. Her expression was so intense with concentration that Honey smiled as she approached her.

"Hi. Are you looking for someone?"

"I'm waiting for my daddy."

The child's hair was held back from her face with a set of barrettes that didn't match. Along with her jeans, she wore a T-shirt appliqued with a red and yellow satin tugboat, a pair of battered Nikes, and a neon-pink plastic bracelet flecked with silver glitter.

"This roller coaster's really big," she said.

"Yes, it is."

She turned to study Honey. "Is it scary?"

"It's pretty fierce."

"I wouldn't be scared," the child scoffed. "I'm not scared of anything." And then her face fell. "Except that I have nightmares."

"Did you ever ride a roller coaster?" Honey inquired.

"Only baby ones."

"That's too bad."

The child gave an indignant snort. "I was going to ride Space Mountain when we went to Disneyland, but my daddy wouldn't let me 'cause of the nightmares. He was so mean. And then he made us leave early just 'cause he said I was crabby."

Honey concealed her amusement. "Were you?"

"I sort of throwed my ice cream cone, but I didn't mean to hit his shirt, and he shouldn't of made us leave."

Honey couldn't help but smile, especially since she wasn't the one responsible for raising this cute little hellion. Something about her made Honey remember another little girl who had also plunged dauntlessly into life.

The child regarded her reproachfully. "It wasn't one bit funny."

Honey immediately sobered. "I'm sorry. You're right. It definitely wasn't funny to leave Disneyland early."

"Daddy already said I can't ride Black Thunder. I even cried, but he wouldn't change his mind. He's really mean."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than her face splintered into a wide grin as she caught sight of someone behind Honey's back.

"Daddy!" she shrieked. Arms and legs pumping, she took off

Honey smiled as she heard an oof of expelled breath. Which one of her workmen had fathered this little stinker? Just as she was about to turn and see, she heard that unforgettable voice.

"Jeeze, it's only been five minutes, Rach. Watch that elbow. And I asked you to wait while I took Becca to the bathroom."

Honey's entire world tilted. Her emotions leaped between a piercing sense of joy and a suffocating fear. She was abruptly conscious of her dirty jeans and untidy hair. What was he doing here? Why hadn't he stayed away so she would be safe from him? Slowly, she turned to confront him.

"Hello, Honey."

The man who stood before her was no one she knew. He was an expensive stranger, an icon with a gilded Oscar on his mantel and the world's power brokers at his feet. The eye patch was gone. The long hair that she remembered so well had been civilized in a two-hundred-dollar haircut that didn't quite reach his collar. His clothes screamed money and European style: a designer shirt instead of soft flannel, loosely fitting slacks in a subtle gray-on-gray windowpane rather than faded jeans. He pulled off his costly sunglasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. His turquoise movie-star eyes revealed nothing of what he was feeling.

She tried to get the pieces to click together so that she could connect the movie star with the clown, the construction worker, and, most of all, with the man who had let her see his private demons, but she couldn't make the link.

Not until he gazed down at his daughters. At that moment, his false identities faded away and she knew that the man who stood before her was the same one who had laid bare his soul that night four months ago while they sat on top of Black Thunder.

"It looks like you've already met Rachel," he said. "And this is her sister, Becca."

She dropped her eyes to the child whose hand was completely enveloped in his, but before she could say anything, Rachel broke away from his side and ran to her.

"Becca's got Down syndrome," she said in a fierce whisper that was loud enough to be heard by the world. "Don't say anything mean to her. Just 'cause she doesn't look like everybody else doesn't mean she isn't smart."

Honey found her tongue with difficulty. There was no use trying to explain to Rachel that her silence hadn't been caused by her sister's handicap, but by her father.

"Hello, Becca," she managed, her voice shaky. "I'm glad to meet you."

"Hi," Becca said shyly.

Apparently Honey had met Rachel's standard for behavior because she nodded her approval and returned to her father's side.

Honey slipped her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans and addressed Eric for the first time. "I—I thought you were working on a film."

"Just finished up. I decided I couldn't miss the great event." His eyes were expressionless as he looked up at Black Thunder.

"I didn't expect you," she said inanely.

"No, I don't imagine you did." His bad boy's mouth gave that cynical twist he hid behind when he was hurting. "How was your magical mystery ride?"

"I—I haven't taken it yet."

He lifted his eyebrow. "Waiting for a full moon?"

"Don't, Eric."

Rachel's voice interrupted, and her tone was decidedly condemning. "I thought you said Honey was a grown-up. She's little."

"That's enough, Rach."

"I bet I'll be taller than her by the time I'm in third grade. She's a shrimp for a grown-up."

"Rachel..." Eric's voice held a note of warning.

"It's all right, Eric." There was something decidedly calculating about Rachel's comments, and through her own distress Honey felt a spark of admiration, not to mention a strange kinship. She knew all about this sort of challenge.

"I may be short, kiddo," she said. "But I'm tough."

"I'm tough, too," Rachel retorted.

"I can see that, but you have a way to go before you'll be as tough as I am." Honey stuck the tips of her fingers in the back pockets of her jeans. "I was running this place when I wasn't much older than you.

It's what's inside a person that counts, not what's outside. Nobody who's got any sense ever messes with me."

"Oh, Lord," Eric muttered. "I knew this would happen."

Rachel regarded her with the first hint of respect. "Are you strong enough to fight a man?"

"A dozen of them," Honey replied without hesitation.

"I had to fight my Grandpa Guy. He was giving me bad touches."

Honey felt a jolt of outrage as she realized there was more to Lilly's story than had been made public.

She concealed her dismay, and the only emotion she permitted herself to display was respect. "I'll bet he was sorry he tangled with you."

Rachel nodded vigorously. "I screamed and yelled real loud, and then Daddy beat him up. Grandpa Guy had to go to a special hospital for—" She looked uncertainly at her father.

"Alcoholics," he said, supplying the word.

"A hospital for alcoholics," Rachel continued. "And me and Becca don't ever have to be alone with him again. And Daddy said I don't ever have to let anybody see my underpants."

"That's good," Honey replied. "Some things are private, aren't they?"

But Rachel was no longer interested in talking about the past. Her eyes returned to Black Thunder.

"I'm not a baby. I don't see why I can't ride the roller coaster, Daddy."

"It's not negotiable," Eric said flatly.

Honey interrupted the argument she could see brewing. "Where are you staying?"

"The hotel in town."

"I don't see why we can't stay here like you did, Daddy." Rachel turned to Honey. "Daddy told us how he helped build Black Thunder, didn't you, Daddy? And he lived right here in the middle of the 'musement park."

"It's not much of a park, Rachel," Honey warned. "If you're expecting Disneyland, you're going to be disappointed. There's just what you see. Black Thunder and a few rented attractions that get sent back on Monday morning."

"I don't care. Why can't we stay in the park where you stayed, Daddy? Becca wants to, don't you, Becca?"

Becca nodded obediently. "Becca wants to stay here."

"Sorry, girls."

Rachel tugged on her father's arm. "If we stay at the hotel everybody'll bother you for autographs just like they did on the airplane. I want to stay here. And so does Becca. And she doesn't wet the bed anymore, Honey, so you don't have to worry."

Becca regarded Honey so sheepishly that she couldn't help but smile. "I wasn't worried at all."

Eric didn't look at Honey. Instead, he kept his eyes on his daughter. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I don't think it's a good idea."

"Remember last time we stayed at the hotel, and I had a nightmare, and I couldn't stop screaming. That man came and pounded on the door and said he was calling the police."

Honey saw Eric's hesitation, and although she wasn't privy to the details, she could guess his dilemma.

"I don't mind, Eric," she said stiffly. "It's up to you."

"Please, Daddy! Pretty please!"

Eric shrugged. "I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

Rachel squealed and began to hop up and down. Becca squealed, too, and also started jumping.

"Let's go look around." Rachel snatched Becca's hand and began running toward the rented carousel, which was just visible through the trees.

"Stay in sight," Eric called after them.

"We will," Rachel shouted back.

"They won't," Eric sighed.

He turned back to Honey. "You could have said no."

"And be forced into another shoot-out with your daughter? No, thank you."

He smiled. "She's pretty awful, isn't she?"

"She's wonderful, and you know it."

An awkward silence fell between them. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "I planned to come here alone, but Rachel went into a tailspin when I talked to her about it."

"I imagine she was afraid you wouldn't come back."

His face darkened. "As you may have gathered, Lilly's father attacked her, and she's had terrible nightmares almost every night since."

Honey felt sickened as he filled her in on the details.

"Just getting her to separate from me during the day has been difficult enough. The child psychologist who's working with us doesn't think I should push it, and I agree. Rachel needs to feel safe again."

"Of course she does."

"No child should have to endure what she has," he said bitterly.

Honey wanted to reach out to him, but instead she looked toward the roller coaster. "She's going to give you a hard time tomorrow about riding Black Thunder."

"I know. It's one of the reasons I shouldn't have brought her here, but I was too self-absorbed to think it through."

Why had he come? She was afraid to ask, and he didn't seem ready to volunteer the information.

"I think I need to go on a scouting mission," he said.

She glanced over toward the carousel. Just as he had predicted, the girls had disappeared. "Why are you here, Eric?"

His movie-star eyes caught her up. "I need to get on with my life, Honey. I want to find out if there's any future for the two of us, or if I'm just kidding myself."

His frankness both surprised and dismayed her. She realized the real Eric was something of a stranger to her, and she wasn't certain how to protect herself against him.

"Eric, I—"

Rachel's voice interrupted, calling from the other side of the trees. "Daddy! Come see what we found."

"I have to go. We'll pick you up for dinner at six."

"I don't think that's—"

"Wear something pretty."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he was already walking away.

Honey wore the only dress she had brought with her, a simple jade-green sheath that stopped well short of her knees. She accessorized it with matching opaque stockings and jade-green pumps. A heavy gold Egyptian necklace complemented the plain round neckline. Her only other piece of jewelry was her wedding ring.

"Neat!" Rachel spun in a circle in the middle of the living area of Honey's trailer. "This is so neat, Daddy! Why can't we live in a trailer like this?"

"I'll sell the house tomorrow."

"He's being sar-cat-sick, Becca."

"Sarcastic." He corrected her automatically while his eyes drank in the sight of Honey Jane Moon Coogan. She had bent forward so Becca could touch her necklace, and as he watched his daughter slip her hand into Honey's long hair, he tried not to think about how much he wanted to do the same thing.

"I get to sit next to Honey," Rachel announced as they left the trailer and walked toward the lot where his rental car was parked. "You sit in the front seat with Daddy, Becca."

To his surprise, Becca stamped her foot. "Me want to sit with Honey."

"No, dummy. I saw Honey first."

Honey stepped between the girls and took their hands. "All three of us will sit in the back. We'll let your daddy chauffeur us."

"Great," he muttered, beginning to wish that he'd brought the girls' nanny with him so he could have Honey to himself for a little while.

By the time dessert arrived, he was definitely wishing he'd brought the nanny along. His daughters had completely monopolized Honey's attention. Not that he could have had a lengthy conversation with her anyway. Every time he lifted his fork, someone else appeared at the table asking for his autograph.

Across from him Honey gave a soft whistle of admiration as Becca counted out their four water glasses. "That's terrific, Becca. You sure are a good counter."

Becca had blossomed since Eric had gotten her back. The bed-wetting had stopped, and her language skills had taken a giant leap forward. Normally shy around strangers, she was chattering like a magpie to Honey.

His gaze moved to her sister. Honey and Rachel had had several clashes of will during dinner, but Honey had won every one. He kept expecting Rachel to throw a tantrum in retaliation, but there seemed to be some kind of unspoken understanding between them. Not that he was entirely surprised. In every way except physical appearance, Rachel could have been Honey's child instead of Lilly's. Both these females he loved had crusty, aggressive exteriors and marsh-mallow interiors. They were affectionate, loyal, and fiercely protective. They also shared an entire truckload of negative traits that he didn't want to think about with pigheaded stubborness leading the pack.

Across the table, Rachel was unhappy with the fact that her sister had claimed Honey's attention, so she licked her spoon and stuck it on her nose. Honey ignored her until the spoon dropped off, then she complimented her on her dress.

He shifted his thoughts to Lilly. Just last week, they had talked. She was working with an excellent therapist—the same one who was helping him deal with Rachel's trauma— and she was more at peace than he could remember. To ease the guilt she felt over what she had put them all through, she had given him full custody of their daughters, believing he could help them heal in a way that she couldn't.

After one of her early sessions with the therapist, the two of them had talked.

"I love the girls so much," she had confessed, "but I've realized that the only times I'm really comfortable with them is when you're around to supervise. I wish I could be Auntie Mame."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You know. Fly into town. Shower them with presents. Kiss them like crazy. And then disappear, leaving you with the business of raising them. Do you think I'm horrible?"

He had shaken his head. "I don't think you're horrible at all."

He knew Lilly was coping with the events in her past in the best way she could, and so far the girls had been accepting of their mother's appearances and disappearances in their lives. His disappearances were another matter, however, which was why he'd been forced to bring them to South Carolina.

"Do you ever have nightmares?" Rachel asked Honey.

"Sometimes," Honey replied.

"Scary ones?"

Honey's eyes flickered toward Eric. She quickly looked away. "Pretty scary."

Rachel regarded her thoughtfully. "Are you going to marry my daddy?"

"Enough questions, Rach." Eric signaled for the bill.

As the waiter walked toward them, the knot in his gut confirmed that he didn't want to hear Honey's answer.