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tempered mule we had when I was a kid. He ate everything tennis balls, my mom's sandal once,

a piece of my father’s shirt whenever he could get his teeth into him. Everything except his feed,

that is." He pursed his lips. "I tried to ride him once. No uppity mule was going to get the better

of me. I've still got the scars."

"Oh, no, what happened?" she said, chuckling.

He shrugged. "We had a contest of wills, and the better man won. But then, I was only six."

She moved closer to him and leaned on the waist-high rail. "Did you live on a farm?"

"Yes, until my father left." His gaze went distant, as if he were seeing a different time and other

things. “Mom tried to keep it going for a couple of months, but we had to leave." He focused on

her again. "My uncle owns it now. Maybe I'll take you there sometime."

"I'd like that," she said quietly. "What happened to your father?"

"I don't know." The reply was terse, but after a moment he leaned his elbows on the rail beside

her and continued, "We haven't heard anything from him since he left when I was seven. He

could be dead for all I know. Or married with another family, which would be strange-having

brothers and sisters you've never met, I mean. Anyway, I didn't miss out. We moved into town,

and Mom met my stepfather, and he and I got to be close. It took some time. I guess I was pretty

stubborn about it."

Blond hair dripping into sad eyes, wanting their father to come home to them. It wasn't Chance's

children after all; it was him. She could just see him. Behind the sadness would have been a fiery

independence, the iron conviction of never-trusting like that again. Mary ached gently for the

ghost of the little boy, and she put her hand on his back, rubbing softly.

"Who wouldn't be?" she murmured.

He glanced at her ironically. "Yeah, but I was cutting off my own nose, you know? My stepdad's

the best thing that ever happened to us. He came after me every time I ran away, and only really

raised his voice the time I stole Cassie and took her, too:"

"Oh, my.. ." A hand crept to her mouth. "How old was she?"

"She'd just turned four. I was eleven, and had just realized that I knew everything." One corner of

his mouth curled up. "It was all right-I thought. I mean; she'd wanted to come. I did ask her. As I

recall, she'd gotten in trouble for something or other that day; I don't remember what. Whatever it

was, I'm sure she deserved it. Cassie was a hell-child, too. But at the time, we thought we'd go

look for greener pastures.

The police picked us up about two "miles from home, which was just as well. The novelty had

worn off for her by that point, and she had sat down at the side of the road and was refusing to

walk any, farther."

She could laugh, even if in horror; after all, the story had a good conclusion. "Your poor parents."

"Yeah, those were the good old days. It got worse." He reached into the stall, picked up a piece

of straw, and twirled it between his fingers. "My mom's hair used to be as red as Cassie's. Now

it's going white. I started aging her, and Cassie finished her off. And Dad never has lost that

bewildered expression he had when I was a teenager."

She enjoyed the feel of his strong muscles under her fingertips, the graceful curve of his spine,

the wide, rippling indentations under the green cloth as she worked over to one shoulder. She

said uncertainly, "Surely you couldn't have been that bad."

He snorted. "You think. I've been through a couple of wars that were easier than my teens. Well,

nobody would want to live through their teenage years again, would they?"

"I don't know," she mused, an edge of sadness shading her voice as she thought of her own high

school years. In many ways it would be hard-to relive them, but it had been a much simpler time-

and her parents had been alive. "I could be tempted."

He turned, put an arm around her, and pulled her close against his side. "You really need to slow

down, Mary. Enjoy things again. You don't have to be a kid to do that. Just stop living up to

everybody else's expectations.”

She cuddled. into him and put her head-on his shoulder. "Maybe. I am thinking about things. And

I guess I don't really want to be a teenager again. You talking about your parents just made me

think of mine. I still miss them."

"Does Tim remember them?"

"Not really. Just vague, blurred memories. I've told him a lot about them, though." She tried to

steer the conversation away from such unhappy reminiscences as she said, "Tim's been fairly

quiet so far, but in some ways he's young for his age. I keep waiting for him to explode into the

Great Rebellion. Maybe you could tell me what I should watch for."

Chance smiled at her. "I'd be really surprised if Tim gave you the kind of trouble I gave my

parents. He's such a sensible boy."

She couldn't resist asking, "What kind of things did you do?"

"Oh, mostly the usual. Ran with the wrong crowd. Drinking, smoking-I stayed away from drugs

because I didn't like feeling out of control. I got arrested once for being in a stolen car, but I

didn't know it was stolen and wasn't driving, so I was never charged." He glanced sidelong at her,

and under his casual veneer was something more searching, an unspoken question.

She pressed closer to him, her expression nonjudgmental, just listening. He continued, "And I

dated a lot of girls. Ran after anything in a skirt, really. This one girl-" He stopped momentarily,

and the skin around his eyes tightened. "I got pretty serious with this one girl. We thought we

were being careful, but she ended up pregnant." He drew a breath. "I was going to marry her, but

her parents took her out of state for an abortion. I wasn't told about it until afterward."

She fell silent. In its corner, the donkey nibbled at a pile of hay. A couple passed by, chatting

together. Mary was oblivious to it all, tracing in her mind's eye the path of his pain and disappointment, and how it had shaped him. That must have been when he enlisted in the army to

get away from home. She reached up and smoothed the hair away from his forehead. "I'm sorry,

Chance."

He turned to kiss her palm. "Things got better. She and I corresponded for a while, but after a

few months that stopped. I did all right for myself, and she's still in the area. She's married now

and has a family of her own, and we've managed to retain a friendship. In fact, she's one of those

married women I'm supposed to be having an affair with. But her husband and I get along, too.

He knows better."

"I'm glad you felt like you could tell me," she said huskily.

He straightened from the railing. "You made it easy, Mary. I didn't mean to go on so much, but

you're a very good listener." Palpably, he shook off the mood that had settled on him and said,

"Now that you know the worst of it, do you still want to sit by me on the roller coaster?"

"Of course I do."

His face lightened with pleasure and a relief he was far too proud to put into words. He took her

hand, threading his fingers through hers, and they left the horse barn.

It was fully dark now, and the lights on the fair rides were a kaleidoscope of whirling color. The

crowd was noisier and older, most of the parents with children having gone home at sundown.

Loud music blared from speakers at the fastest rides.

Chance kept her close and smoothly negotiated a path through the crowd. A burly man, involved

in a heated argument with his companion, nearly walked into Mary. Instead, he walked into an

iron barrier as Chance shot out his arm protectively.

"Hey, why don't you watch where the hell-" the man began, and then saw Chance's face. "Hah.

'Scuse me." He and his friend dodged away.

Mary was hardly aware of the altercation before it was all over. She looked in the direction the

man went, then up at Chance again. The fleeting hint of the hard faced stranger was already gone

before she was ever fully sure it was there.

"Which ride first?" he asked easily.

She smiled, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they got in line for the Octopus.

Six rides later, they stepped off the Himalaya, a mini roller coaster that went very fast, both

forward and backward. Mary was wobbling giddily, laughing at the look on Chance's face as he

stared at her.

"Iron stomach is right," he said, laughing, as well. "Is there anything that you won't go on?"

"If so, I haven't found it. Tim and I spent the weekend at Cedar Point one time. I love the Demon

Drop and the Blue Streak."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you ready for more?"

"Sure."

They got in line for the Ferris wheel and stepped into their carriage when their tum came. The

attendant put the safety bar down, and after all the other passengers got on the wheel smoothly

started to tum.

The breeze, over the tree line, was fresh and invigoratingly cool. It tugged at Mary's hair and

blew long strands across Chance's arm and shoulder as she craned to stare, enchanted, at all the

fair lights and the surrounding countryside. In the distance she could just see the lake,

glimmering in the moonlight.

As they rounded the top of the wheel and began another descent, Chance put his arm around her

and pulled her close. She turned to him with a smile. She caught a glimpse of his shadowed face

before he put his mouth to her ear and said, "Do you know what's supposed to happen on the

Ferris wheel?"

"What?"

His' lips brushed the sensitive hairs at her temple.

"You're supposed to share a kiss. Would you share a kiss with me, Mary?"

A shiver trickled down her spine and spread to her limbs. Their carriage swung back up again

and ascended to the top. Her eyes drifted closed as she breathed, "Oh, yes."

His mouth was already covering hers. His lips caressed her delicately, over and over, shaping and

rediscovering definition of taste. Her-shudder deepened, and then he held the back of her head,

parted her lips and delved in hard.

A moan broke from one of them; they shared the sound and drank it into silence. Then he

crushed her to his chest and kissed her hotly. Time fell away, and the world spun gracefully.

There was a rhythm to what he did as he bent her over his arm and pierced her repeatedly with

his tongue. Each time, she throbbed with a spasmodic, agonized pleasure that was hunger.

He cupped the small curve of her breast with one hand, and her nipple hardened instantly into-a-

small, round pebble. He sucked in a breath, rotating his thumb over the sensitive nub until she

writhed mindlessly, needing to get closer, to reach for something she only understood

instinctively.

He was shaking. She gripped the back of his head, murmuring incoherently.

The. carriage stopped, and someone cleared his throat. "Hey," said the attendant, "you want to

ride

again?"

Chance lifted his head. Mary's face was naked, her wide eyes blind. He groaned, tucked her face

into his neck and cradled her. "Let's get out of here, precious."

LEAVING the fair was a blur for Mary. Everything but Chance, who kept an arm protectively

around her, was peripheral. His body was taut. When she looked up into his face, she could see a

muscle bunched in the straight, clean line of his jaw, and she had to work hard to keep from

stumbling.

It was close to midnight when they climbed into his Jeep and he pulled out of the parking space.

The tension between them was unbearable, like atmospheric pressure just before a storm. He

shifted, then put his hand on her thigh, stroking up the slender length of it. The sensation burned

through the denim.

She covered his hand with hers and swallowed dryly.

"Chance," she said hoarsely, "we have to talk."

He shot her an unsmiling glance, his hazel eyes smoky. "Yes, I know. Where do you want to go?

Can we talk at your house? I could take you to mine if you like."

His house would be filled with his presence, and very private. What would it look like? She

pushed aside longing, fought for caution and said, "I think we'd better go back to mine tonight. If

you don't mind."

He inclined his head in a terse nod, his fingers tightening on her leg before he let go and turned

his attention to the road. She leaned back against the headrest and looked out the window,

absorbed in the rhythm of her racing pulse.

She had only understood in the most intellectual sense the passions that drove some people to

disaster. Now, sharp as a knife edge, sexual excitement surrounded her; and all of her previously

held convictions were terribly fragile in the force of it. His smallest actions, the rustle of clothing, the quiet sound of his breathing, caught and tugged at her. He was so beautiful he made

her ache, and she was gripped with a fierce, primeval desire.

They pulled into the driveway, the tires of the Jeep crunching on gravel. He turned off the

ignition, tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, then came around to open her door.

Mary couldn't look at him, even as she reached out and gripped his hands hard. She stared at the

house instead. The only illumination that showed downstairs came from the front hall light and

the porch light. The upstairs floor was dark. Grampa and Tim would be in bed, but it was such a