"Our friendship probably isn't worth anything, Tara." Donna's voice was as tight as the packing job. She pushed down the lid and leaned on it to get the left clasp shut. She did the same to the right and talked through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, too. Truly sorry it's come to this. But you've been impossible. Wonderful and welcoming one minute, and the next you're treating Bill like he's a psycho, and me like I'm an idiot. If Bill is so d.a.m.ned dangerous, then what's he doing hanging out here? Huh? No answer, right?"

Donna took a second to glance at Tara, who didn't bother to answer.

There was nothing more she could say.

"You've got a serious case of att.i.tude, and I don't care how big a lawyer you are, or how busy you are, or what an upstanding citizen of Albuquerque you are*it wouldn't have killed you to be straight with me. That's what friends do. Or you could have pretended that nothing was wrong.

Because that's also what friends do. You couldn't do it, and it wasn't *til tonight that I figured it out." Tara heard a snap. The suitcase was loaded and ready to go. Donna turned, one hand on her hip, the other atop the suitcase. She was breathing hard from the exertion of her job and her emotions.

"You're transparent as gla.s.s. You're lonely and you're jealous that I always have a man and you don't. I thought you really liked him and were happy for me, but you wanted him. Admit it."

"I will do no such thing!" Tara's voice rose an octave to stop Donna's tirade. She rounded the bed and sat down heavily right under Donna's nose.

"Have you ever seen me do anything stupid because of a man? You haven't. Don't deny it," Tara asked.

"How can you reduce this to such simplistic drivel?"

"Because that's all it is," Donna snapped.

"Get real. What Bill means to me has nothing to do with middle-aged hormones, sweetheart. If anything, he's the one that's been after me. He came out to the corral that night you guys fixed dinner. Ask him about that. If that wasn't a come- on, I don't know what is."

Tara waited, her upturned face a showcase of triumph. She waited for Donna to collapse next to her, stunned into silence. Tara was sorely disappointed.

"I know exactly what went on. We laughed about it, Tara. He told me how you bolted, terrified of him. All your big talk and you're still terrified of a real man. You ran away from Ben when he was whole. Yeah, I know all about that night. I think it's pitiful."

Speechless, Tara locked eyes with Donna's. Bill Hamilton's spirit stood between them, destructive and gleeful.

"Is there anything else? I have a few things more to pack before we leave."

"You're being stupid, Donna. Very, very stupid.

I don't know how he's turned you against me. I'm not afraid of men.

I'm afraid of Bill Hamilton."

Without another word Tara started to leave, pausing long enough to scoop up a bright red blouse Donna had dropped.

"Don't forget this. I'd hate for you to come back for anything." Tara lay the red silk blouse across Donna's palm. As she did she caught sight of a twinkle of silver just outside the window, a short flash of something glittery. So many things came into her mind's eye: a knife, a pitchfork, a belt buckle. The muzzle of a gun, perhaps. The two women stood bathed in light, framed by a curtainless window. So vulnerable. Such easy targets, the two of them.

The moment of caution was past. Anger was back. It was a way of life these days, but this time, Tara was going to make it work for her. This was her home, her friend, and Bill Hamilton couldn't have either. This was no ghost, no figment of her imagination. It was Bill Hamilton, liar and felon, she caught sight of out there.

Tara headed out the front door, hesitating on the step. The wind was up. She pulled at a long strand of hair that blew across her eyes, and lifted her head as if she could smell him. She walked around the house, her guard up against his tricks.

He could pop up anywhere or be found languishing near a tree. She could pa.s.s him in this dark and not know it until he chuckled. She would spin only to see that white bright grin of his.

"Not this time. Billy," Tara muttered, slowing her step, keeping her eyes wide open for any sign of life on this cold, now miserable, night.

Finally she saw him. He stood quietly with his back to her, his hands in his pockets, contemplating the flow of the river at his feet. Slowly Tara moved forward, steeling herself against any sport in which he might indulge. She moved almost noiselessly until the waist-high brush kept her from going farther without commotion and greater effort.

Still Bill Hamilton didn't move, and Tara breathed hard, hoping he wouldn't hear it. Bill liked fear. He fed on it. Tara took a moment before she spoke. It was too long. Bill beat her to it.

His voice was so beautiful on this clear and chilly night, so different from the happy, manic cowboy who'd probably paid compliments while he shot that poor, pregnant woman. This wasn't the voice of a sanguine seducer. This voice could have brought her to tears, so lovely and low, the words heartfelt and anguished. He was unrecognizable because of them.

"It's so sad to be loved and thrown away because someone's afraid of you." He turned his head but only far enough so Tara could see his profile. His head was raised, his handsome face turned just so as if to be admired, hoping to be caught for eternity by an artist's hand. But his eyes were on a star and it seemed he was not as aware of her as she imagined.

"I cry when I think of the babies thrown away. Abandoned in trash cans. Mothers who don't love them. My mother loved me. Oh, how she loved me. And look what I've become. Donna loves me. She's not afraid. You can't make her that way, Tara. She sees what I am because she wants me in a way you'll never understand. You see the wrong thing because you're afraid. You won't admit it, but you are. And the funny thing is, you're afraid of the wrong thing.

Oh my, yes, the wrong, wrong thing."

He sighed as if he was saddened but Tara wasn't sure who he sorrowed for*himself for being in such a situation, her for not being able to understand the depth of him, or Donna for loving him so well that she'd lost all reason. He sighed and turned his body. His hands were still in his pockets.

He talked to her as if they had lazed the day away and were now at the end of it, getting down to twilight talk.

"I'll bet there are a lot of people who are afraid of you."

"There's no reason for anyone to be. Least of all you," Tara said, using her voice just to see if it still worked.

"Oh," he said, laughing bitterly, "but there is.

You are a mighty fearsome person." She could have sworn his lips pursed as if he might throw her a kiss.

"You are the keeper of secrets, Tara, and that is darn powerful. Maybe that's why Donna's afraid of you. You know all her secrets.

Ugly little things that could show the world how really useless she is." One hand lifted and he underscored his words with an almost raised fist.

"Tell your secrets and you could ruin lives, shame people. You could make it so people die." He slid his eyes her way and Tara thought for a minute the old Bill was back.

"h.e.l.l, you could panic a whole city with what you know about me. It wouldn't be right for you to tell. But you could do it, couldn't you? There's nothin' really holdin' you back *cept a promise, is there?" He looked away, almost talking to himself again as he stooped to pick up a rock and toss it in the river.

"Think about that, just one little minute. Oh, just think about it. Don't it make your skin tingle to think what you've got in your head that n.o.body else knows?" He was smiling now, that famous good old boy grin. His voice dropped, he bent from the waist as if to tell her another secret. But what he said came as little surprise.

"I would love to have that kind of power, Tara. I could have it.

If only I had been born a different man."

"You've got the power, Bill," Tara answered in kind, her voice as bare of emotion as the branches of the winter cottonwoods.

"You've got a fearful power if what you told me is true."

"Aw." Bill's body swayed as if embarra.s.sed by the compliment. Did his boot chuck at the ground?

Had she flattered him? Then his gray eyes were back on her and Tara lay her hands on the brush to steady herself. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"Tara, to make someone afraid is so easy. To make them live with fear, to have enough power to make them wonder day in and day out if you're going to tell something'*whoee, that's mighty."

With a sad smile, he turned away from her and looked back to the river.

Did he think of throwing himself in? Wouldn't that be a blessing?

"I'd like people to respect me, Tara. They should because of what I can do. But everyone doesn't know what I can do, and I'm so afraid to tell *em. If I do, they'll expect so much. I'm not brave enough to be what they expect. Are you?"

Tara didn't move. She only stared at him, wondering how a man like him could ask all the right questions, point out all the wrong things. He chuckled and threw another rock.

"There's even something worse. To be weak when you look like you shouldn't be. Oh, d.a.m.n," he sighed.

"When people find out this cowboy ain't got the power, they dis him, Tara. Dis him bad." He sighed deeply.

"Have you ever felt like you couldn't make something' happen? It's a lousy thing. h.e.l.l, I haven't been able to make life happen.

Those pills made me feel like I was someone.

Problem was, it wasn't the someone I should be.

Do you get it? Do you know what I mean? Do you see why I need help so badly? I don't think the someone I am is a very good person to be. I'd like to be you, Tara. I'd like to be the two of you.

One lady in her home, on her ranch; one the keeper of secrets, hard and tough and no one can make her tell."

Tara's heart slowed, the night around her stop- framed for an instant. Her head swam. Who was this man? How did he get into her life? Was he weak and sad and looking for the finale to the very poor play in which he'd been cast? The magic he attributed to her was nonexistent. She had no power to protect herself against the fear Bill Hamilton inspired, and there was certainly no power in knowing his secrets. She proved this every day as one by one friends turned against her.

Quietly, she drew on everything that made her what she was, calling on all the strong spirits that had, over a century, imbued her with tenacity, if not strength. She would act out the role that Bill Hamilton had a.s.signed her. Tara Limey made her demands.

"I don't want you to leave here tonight. Talk to Donna. She'll listen to you."

Bill didn't face her, but she knew he was listening hard.

"It's time I used my power to help you then. I want numbers where I can reach your family. I want to talk to your old girlfriend. You will see a psychologist tomorrow. His name is Ben Crawford.

I'll pick you up and drive you to his office in the morning. You give me these things and do these things, or I cut you loose, Bill. I'm taking risks for you. I'm not losing Donna because of you. I will tell my secrets and you will fry along with me unless you do as I say."

"Really?" Bill asked.

"Really," Tara insisted and she knew he didn't believe her. She didn't believe herself "Nine o'clock, Bill. Be ready."

Fifteen.

Tara took the steps two at a time and rang the bell. The buzzer unlatched the door and she pushed through, walked into the house and down the hall.

"Ben!" she called.

"You can relax. I'm all alone."

She'd swung into his office before he made the hall. They met in the doorway and Ben backed off.

"You are alone!" Ben looked around her, checking for himself.

"I am." Emboldened by the adrenaline rush of this morning's surprise, Tara skirted past as if she'd been popping in for years.

"Have any hot chocolate?"

"I'm not that creative in the morning. Sorry.

Coffee?"

"I'll settle." She shrugged out of her jacket and looked over her shoulder as she went to the sideboard.

"Want some?"

"Already got it." The wheelchair was on automatic pilot. It whirred while he settled himself behind the desk. She slid on top of it and cupped her mug with both hands as she blew on the hot coffee.

"You keep a clean desk."

"Only when I know I'll have visitors who prefer it to the couch," he said. He was ready for business.

"So, what's the scoop? I was expecting to take a meeting with the devil this morning."

"He took off. I didn't hear a thing. Donna obviously didn't mind leaving. She didn't even say goodbye."

"And you're sitting here instead of calling out the militia?" Ben asked.

"Can't even work up a good fury?"

Tara shook her head.

"Guess I finally got smart."

"That's fairly amazing."

"Something happened last night. It's hard to explain."

Tara took a sip of her coffee, slid off the desk, and walked to the windows. She looked past the well-manicured gra.s.s onto the street. Cars went by, people walked, everyone went about their business.

She turned around and propped herself up against the sill. He was smiling at her. She laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing." He shrugged, but there was more.

She smiled back, liking the way the few strands of silver in his hair brightened his face. He was still grinning. She put a hand to her hip and he gave in.

"Okay. You look great this morning. That's it.