For

       Dianne Moggy whose gifts as a publisher are many.

      And with much love and appreciation to Loretta Barrett, Nick Mullendore, Gabriel Davis and Christine Robinson.

      In thy face I see the map of honor, truth, and loyalty.

      —William Shakespeare,

       King Henry VI

      CONTENTS

      THANKSGIVINGI

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      DECEMBERII

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      JANUARYIII

      CHAPTER 22

      CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      CHAPTER 29

      CHAPTER 30

      CHAPTER 31

      CHAPTER 32

      CHAPTER 33

      CHAPTER 34

      CHAPTER 35

      CHAPTER 36

      FEBRUARYIV

      CHAPTER 37

      CHAPTER 38

      CHAPTER 39

      CHAPTER 40

      MARCHV

      CHAPTER 41

      CHAPTER 42

      CHAPTER 43

      CHAPTER 44

      CHAPTER 45

      CHAPTER 46

      CHAPTER 47

      CHAPTER 48

      APRILVI

      CHAPTER 49

      CHAPTER 50

      CHAPTER 51

      CHAPTER 52

      WHILE CASSY COCHRAN wrapped her hair in a towel, she felt a kiss on the small of her back. She straightened up and smiled as arms slid around her waist to hold her from behind.

      “So where do they think you are?”

      “The office, to pick something up.” Cassy turned around, allowing herself to be kissed. “As soon as they take off I’ll come by to pick you up.” She wanted to say something else but was prevented from doing so. For about twenty minutes.

      And then she had to shower all over again.

      1

      Thanksgiving Dinner at the Darenbrooks’

      BEFORE DINNER CASSY asked everyone to please hold hands during grace.

      “Who’s Grace?” someone said.

      “Wait, wait!” pleaded a young second cousin of her husband’s. “Look, look,” she cried, jumping up to show everyone around the table the most recent issue of City Style. While Cassy exchanged looks with her husband, the fifteen guests politely admired the sight of the Darenbrooks splashed across the cover like movie stars. “Marriage of the Media,” it said above their smiling faces. “Cassy Cochran and Jackson Darenbrook,” it said below.

      Their photograph might as well have been shot through linoleum for all the reality quotient it possessed. Instead of fifty-three and fifty-eight years old, the Darenbrooks looked on the far side of thirty. (There’s nothing worse, in publishers’ minds, than a life of grace, ease and luxury wasted on people readers could not imagine sleeping with.) The article was flattering, too. Cassy was billed as the stunningly good-looking woman of humble Iowa beginnings who dodged a career in front of the camera to become the founding president of the DBS Television network. Jackson was described as the brilliant Georgia heir who turned his father’s newspapers into the massive empire Darenbrook Communications was today.

      The Darenbrooks, according to City Style, had the world at their feet.

      The article breezed over Cassy’s divorce from producer Michael Cochran (and altogether skipped his alcoholism and how, the minute he got sober, he had dumped her), and mentioned the tragic accidental death of Jackson’s first wife, Barbara (and graciously omitted how Jackson dumped his children on his sister so he could become an international playboy).

      “Perhaps we can look at it after dinner,” Cassy suggested.

      The second cousin reluctantly took the hint (she did not get out much in East Binsley, Georgia), and leaned over to drop the magazine under her chair.

      “Oh, Lord,” Jackson began, his drawl pulling farther South than usual, “we thank you for this food we are about to receive and we thank you for allowing us to spend this special day of Thanksgiving together.” Cassy’s husband had wonderful cornflower-blue eyes and a ready smile. He was a tall, very well built man with an enviously thick head of hair that was real. “We ask that you bless and watch over our loved ones who cannot be with us today, both in heaven and on earth.”

      Jackson’s voice trailed off and everybody waited.

      “Merciful God,” he continued, “please help the United States to be healed as a nation, and teach us to bring light and love to places of darkness and hate. Thank you, Lord, for your love and countless blessings for which we are so grateful. Amen.”

      “Amen,” Cassy murmured, opening her eyes. “Very nice, Jack.” She pressed the button under the