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inside before he could leave Windsor Estates.
    April ran quietly up the brick walk and stone portico steps. The massive, ten-foot-doors were locked. She bit her lip. Her key was in her purse – in Lance’s car. Silent as a wraith, she circled the house to the side door. It, too, was locked, and April had to search through the ceramic planters until she found the one with the spare key.
    The house was cool and quiet. April grimaced when the door shut with a loud click. Tiptoeing hurriedly, she made her way down the tiled corridor, around the corner into the foot of the stairs. Her hand was curved around the polished banister when she felt someone’s eyes on her. Turning swiftly, she caught sight of her father sitting motionlessly on one of the dining room chairs.
    “It’s two-thirty,” Peter Hollis said in a tone that sent warnings dancing up and down April’s spine.
    “I know. I’m late.” She swallowed. “I was… at the park.” What did she look like? she wondered fearfully. What did he see?
    “Lance didn’t bring you home.”
    April inwardly winced. Had her father been looking out the dining room window the whole time? “No, I left him at a party. We had a, er, disagreement.”
    “Why didn’t you let yourself in the front door?”
    “I left my purse in Lance’s car.”
    “And your shoes?”
    “Dad, can we talk about this tomorrow?” April burst out. “Nothing happened to me. I’m just tired and disappointed. Tasha got Pink Carnation Ball Queen.”
    Her father rose to his feet and came to stand beside her. “You know I don’t like you riding on motorcycles,” he said. “No matter if you and Lance had a fight or not.”
    “It won’t happen again,” April assured him, easing up another step.
    His gaze swept her filthy dress and wind-tangled hair, and his brow furrowed with concern. “April, are you sure you’re all right? Who was that young man who brought you home?”
    “Nobody. Believe me, dad, it’s nothing to worry about.”
    But later as she lay in bed, her head cradled on one arm, her eyes staring at the high ceiling above her, April asked herself what could have possessed her to take off on a motorcycle with a man she barely knew. Jesse Cawthorne. The name itself sent off warning bells. Who was he? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
    Groaning, April buried her face in her pillow, blocking out the memory of his hard muscles and mocking smile.

    Jesse’s motorcycle shifted down into a protesting whine as he once again pulled into the rutted driveway. He still had time to kill before he had to be at work. Angry at himself for reasons he didn’t quite understand, he thrust open the screen door and strode inside the run-down but tidy house. His mother was asleep on the couch, one arm tossed over her face.
    “Jesse?” she asked, lifting her arm. “Jordan with you?”
    Jordan. A stab of guilt pierced his thick shell. “No, I left him at a party on the river.”
    She struggled to her elbows. “He’s not home yet,” she declared with rising panic. “You don’t think he’s in more trouble, do you?”
    “Calm down. He was passed out cold the last I saw him.”
    “Jesse!”
    “I am not his babysitter!” he exploded with unusual lack of control. Then, seeing the regret in his mother’s lined face, he muttered “Oh, to hell with it. I’ll go find him.” Furious, he kicked open the door, striding back to the motorcycle.
    He drove with a rage way out of proportion to the circumstances. When he arrived at Three Bears the party was little more than a memory. Trash littered the area and one lone soul was staggering around, picking it up. Jordan, Jesse realized. Behind him stood two burly men whom Jesse recognized as nearby landowners. They were putting Jordan to work.
    Some of Jesse’s anger subsided. He laughed inwardly at his younger brother’s plight. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. If things didn’t change soon, Jordan wouldn’t make it to graduation. Jesse,