"No," he said. "That's okay. I'll be going out there tomorrow or the next day, and I can ask him then."

Collins gazed at him speculatively for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "But I want you to take it easy tonight, okay? No fights, and early to bed. I want you in prime shape for tomorrow's game."

Jeff stood up to go, then turned back. "What about my mom?" he asked. "What if she still wants me to quit the team?"

Collins's eyes met Jeff's steadily. "That's not her decision, is it?" he asked. "Isn't that pretty much up to you and your dad?"

Jeff hesitated, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said. "I guess it is, isn't it?"

When Jeff was gone, Collins sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking, then picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Martin Ames's private number at the sports clinic.

"Marty?" he said when the doctor came on the line. "It's Phil." He hesitated a moment, wondering if there was really any reason for him to be calling the doctor. But those marks on Jeff's ankles had certainly been real. "I was just wondering if there's a reason why Jeff would have marks on his wrists and ankles today."

There was a momentary silence, then Ames spoke, his voice tinged with condescension. "Are you asking exactly what we did to Jeff last night?"

Collins's jaw tightened. "I'm just asking if there's an explanation for the marks."

Again there was a momentary silence, and when Ames spoke again, his tone was gentler. "Look, Phil, you know how Jeff was last night. You had to restrain him, and after you left, he had another attack. Nothing to worry about, but we had to restrain him, too, until we could get him calmed down. Sometimes the straps leave marks. What's the big deal? Isn't he all right today?"

"Seems okay," Collins admitted. "But he had a nightmare -a really bad one. I guess I was wondering if the marks could have come from that."

Now Ames chuckled. "You mean you were wondering if Jeff's cracking up?"

Collins flinched, for that was exactly what he had been thinking. And yet when Ames actually spoke the words out loud, they sounded ridiculous. "I guess maybe I overreacted," he replied.

Now Ames's voice became reassuring. "No, you did the right thing. You know I always want to know what's going on with the boys, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Not that bruises on Jeff's arms and legs are insignificant," he quickly added. "You did the right thing to call me. But it's nothing to worry about. Okay?" When the coach made no reply for a moment, Ames spoke again, his voice carrying a harsh note of challenge. "I know what I'm doing, Collins," he said.

Phil Collins's lips compressed into a tight line. If the arrogant bastard was so sure of himself… He put the thought out of his mind. Ames, after all, had done more for the team than any other single individual, himself included. "Okay," he said at last. "I just wanted you to know what's happening, that's all."

"And I appreciate that," Ames replied, friendly again. The conversation ended a moment later, but even after he'd hung up, Phil Collins still felt uneasy.

What if something really was wrong with Jeff?

What if JeffLaConner was getting sick the way Randy Stevens had last year?

Just the thought of it made Collins shudder.

The last days of Indian summer had faded away, and as September gave way to October, the aspens began to change color. Now Silverdale was ablaze with the brilliant reds andgolds of autumn, and the mountain air had taken on a brisk snap, harbinger of the winter to come. Already some of the mountain peaks to the east of the little valley were brushed with snow, and the long evenings of summer were a thing of the past…

For the Tanners, Silverdale was finally beginning to feel like home, and they had fitted themselves comfortably into the pace of the little town. Kelly, her friends in San Marcos all but forgotten, was insisting that if her parents didn't buy her skis immediately, it would be too late, her life ruined forever.

Blake, though still in the throes of sorting out the masses of detail his new job entailed, managed to come home by five-thirty or six every day, and he was never required to work on weekends. Indeed, the first time he tried to go to his office on a Saturday afternoon, he quickly discovered that working on weekends in Silverdale was impossible, for a security guard had stopped him just inside the front door, informing him that all the offices were locked up for the weekend. When he'd protested that he had work to do, the guard had shrugged impotently and suggested he call Jerry Harris. Jerry had laughed at him and told him to go home. "As far as I'm concerned," he said, "there isn't anything we're doing out here that can't wait until Monday. So enjoy your family while you can. The kids grow up too fast anyway."

That afternoon they'd gone to the high school football game, and the following weekend they'd driven down to Durango to watch the Wolverines play there. To Blake's surprise, Mark had actually shown some interest in the games, although at first he suspected that Mark's major interest was in Linda Harris rather than the game itself. Yet, every Sunday afternoon, it had been Mark who insisted on spending a couple of hours on the high school practice field, working once more on his place kicking.

For Sharon, the misgivings she'd felt in the Safeway the day they'd run into CharlotteLaConner had retreated to the back of her mind, and when she'd seen Charlotte at the football games-noting that despite Charlotte's words that day, Jeff was still quarterbacking the team-she decided that perhaps Elaine Harris had been right when she'd said that Charlotte had a tendency to overreact to things.

Now, on the second Thursday in October, Mark glanced at his watch, scraped the last mouthful of potatoes off his plate, and slid his chair back. "Got to go," he announced.

Kelly's face creased into a scowl. "How come I can't go to the pep rallies?" she demanded. "I go to the games, don't I?"

Mark grinned at his little sister. "You wouldn't like them," he told her. "It's a bunch of people jumping up and down and yelling all the time."

"Then how come you like them?" Kelly countered.

" 'Cause they're kind of fun," Mark admitted. "And besides," he added, "I'm taking pictures for the annual tonight."

Kelly cocked her head. "I bet Linda Harris is going to be in every one of them, isn't she?"

"Maybe," Mark said, a faint blush spreading over his face.

"Mark's got a girlfriend, Mark's got a girlfriend," Kelly chanted.

Mark rolled his eyes and turned his back on his sister. "We'regonna go out and get a hamburger after the rally," he told his mother. "What time do I have to be home?"

"Eleven," Sharon replied. Then, as Mark started toward the front door, she called after him, "And if you're going to be late, call!"

"I will," he called back. A moment later the door slammed behind him.

The pep rally was just beginning when Mark got to the school. As he came into the stadium, he saw Linda waving to him from the field. He smiled, waved back, then broke into an easy run. Until tonight he'd watched the pep rallies from the stands with the rest of the kids, but now he, too, would be on the field. Finding a spot on the bench, he opened his camera bag and quickly selected a zoom lens for his Nikon. He screwed on the flashgun, checked his film supply, then moved out to the field itself. By now he knew the routines by heart, and last week he'd decided which would be the best shots. By the time the band started to play the Silverdale alma mater and the drill team was marching onto the field, he was ready. He grinned to himself as he realized that he'd just proved Kelly wrong. Linda Harris wasn't on the drill team, so he'd have at least one picture that didn't include her.