Chapter 1
He watched her coming. Though she wore jeans and a
jacket, with a concealing helmet over her head, Katch
recognized her femininity. She rode a small Honda mo-
torcycle. He drew on his thin cigar and appreciated the
competent way she swung into the market’s parking lot.
Settling the bike, she dismounted. She was tall,
Katch noted, perhaps five feet eight, and slender. He
leaned back on the soda machine and continued to
watch her out of idle curiosity. Then she removed the
helmet. Instantly, his curiosity was intensified. She
was a stunner.
Her hair was loose and straight, swinging nearly to
her shoulders, with a fringe of bangs sweeping over her
forehead. It was a deep, rich brunette that showed glints
of red and gold from the sun. Her face was narrow, the
features sharp and distinct. He’d known models who’d
starved themselves to get the angles and shadows that
were in this woman’s face. Her mouth, however, was
full and generous.
Katch recognized the subtleties of cosmetics and
knew that none had been used to add interest to the
woman’s features. She didn’t need them. Her eyes were
large, and even with the distance of the parking lot be-
tween them, he caught the depth of dark brown. They
reminded him of a colt’s eyes—deep and wide and
aware. Her movements were unaffected. They had an
unrefined grace that was as coltish as her eyes. She was
young, he decided, barely twenty. He drew on the cigar
again. She was definitely a stunner.
“Hey, Megan!”
Megan turned at the call, brushing the bangs from
her eyes as she moved. Seeing the Bailey twins pull to
the curb in their Jeep, she smiled.
“Hi.” Clipping the helmet onto a strap on her bike,
Megan walked to the Jeep. She was very fond of the
Bailey twins.
Like herself, they were twenty-three and had golden,
beach-town complexions, but they were petite, blue-
eyed and pertly blond. The long, baby-fine hair they
shared had been tossed into confusion by the wind.
Both pairs of blue eyes drifted past Megan to focus on
the man who leaned against the soda machine. In re-
flex, both women straightened and tucked strands of
hair behind their ears. Tacitly, they agreed their right
profile was the most comely.
“We haven’t seen you in a while.” Teri Bailey kept
one eye cocked on Katch as she spoke to Megan.
“I’ve been trying to get some things finished before
the season starts.” Megan’s voice was low, with the gen-
tle flow of coastal South Carolina. “How’ve you been?”
“Terrific!” Jeri answered, shifting in the driver’s
seat. “We’ve got the afternoon off. Why don’t you come
shopping with us?” She, too, kept Katch in her periph-
eral vision.
“I’d like to—” Megan was already shaking her head
“—but I’ve got to pick up a few things here.”
“Like the guy over there with terrific gray eyes?”
Jeri demanded.
“What?” Megan laughed.
“And shoulders,” Teri remarked.
“He hasn’t taken those eyes off her, has he, Teri?”
Jeri remarked. “And we spent twelve-fifty for this
blouse.” She fingered the thin strap of the pink cami-
sole top which matched her twin’s.
“What,” Megan asked, totally bewildered, “are you
talking about?”
“Behind you,” Teri said with a faint inclination of her
fair head. “The hunk by the soda machine. Absolutely
gorgeous.” But as Megan began to turn her head, Teri
continued in a desperate whisper, “Don’t turn around,
for goodness sake!”
“How can I see if I don’t look?” Megan pointed out
reasonably as she turned.
His hair was blond, not pale like the twins’, but
dusky and sun-streaked. It was thick and curled loosely
and carelessly around his face. He was lean, and the
jeans he wore were well faded from wear. His stance
was negligent, completely relaxed as he leaned back
against the machine and drank from a can. But his face
wasn’t lazy, Megan thought as he met her stare with-
out a blink. It was sharply aware. He needed a shave,
certainly, but his bone structure was superb. There
was the faintest of clefts in his chin, and his mouth
was long and thin.
Normally, Megan would have found the face fasci-
nating—strongly sculpted, even handsome in a rough-
and-ready fashion. But the eyes were insolent. They
were gray, as the twins had stated, dark and smoky.
And, Megan decided with a frown, rude. She’d seen
his type before—drifters, loners, looking for the sun
and some fleeting female companionship. Under her
bangs, her eyebrows drew together. He was openly star-
ing at her. As the can touched his lips, he sent Megan
a slow wink.
Hearing one of the twins giggle, Megan whipped
her head back around.
“He’s adorable,” Jeri decided.
“Don’t be an idiot.” Megan swung her hair back with
a toss of her head. “He’s typical.”
The twins exchanged a look as Jeri started the Jeep’s
engine. “Too choosy,” she stated. They gave Megan mir-
ror smiles as they pulled away from the curb. “Bye!”
Megan wrinkled her nose at them, but waved be-
fore she turned away. Purposefully ignoring the man
who loitered beside the concessions, Megan walked
into the market.
She acknowledged the salute from the clerk behind
the counter. Megan had grown up in Myrtle Beach. She
knew all the small merchants in the five-mile radius
around her grandfather’s amusement park.
After choosing a basket, she began to push it down
the first aisle. Just a few things, she decided, plucking
a quart of milk from a shelf. She had only the saddle-
bags on the bike for transporting. If the truck hadn’t
been acting up... She let her thoughts drift away from
that particular problem. Nothing could be done about
it at the moment.
Megan paused in the cookie section. She’d missed
lunch and the bags and boxes looked tempting. Maybe
the oatmeal...
“These are better.”
Megan started as a hand reached in front of her to
choose a bag of cookies promising a double dose of
chocolate chips. Twisting her head, she looked up into
the insolent gray eyes.
“Want the cookies?” He grinned much as he had
outside.
“No,” she said, giving a meaningful glance at his
hand on her basket. Shrugging, he took his hand away
but, to Megan’s irritation, he strolled along beside her.
“What’s on the list, Meg?” he asked companionably
as he tore open the bag of cookies.
“I can handle it alone, thanks.” She started down the
next aisle, grabbing a can of tuna. He walked, Megan
noted, like a gunslinger—long, lanky strides with just
a hint of swagger.
“You’ve got a nice bike.” He bit into a cookie as he
strolled along beside her. “Live around here?”
Megan chose a box of tea bags. She gave it a critical
glance before tossing it into the basket. “It lives with
me,” she told him as she moved on.
“Cute,” he decided and offered her a cookie. Megan
ignored him and moved down the next aisle. When she
reached for a loaf of bread, however, he laid a hand on
top of hers. “Whole wheat’s better for you.” His palm
was hard and firm on the back of her hand. Megan met
his eyes indignantly and tried to pull away.
“Listen, I have...”
“No rings,” he commented, lacing his fingers
through hers and lifting her hand for a closer study.
“No entanglements. How about dinner?”
“No way.” She shook her hand but found it firmly
locked in his.
“Don’t be unfriendly, Meg. You have fantastic eyes.”
He smiled into them, looking at her as though they were
the only two people on earth. Someone reached around
her, with an annoyed mutter, to get a loaf of rye.
“Will you go away?” she demanded in an undertone.
It amazed her that his smile was having an effect on her
even though she knew what was behind it. “I’ll make
a scene if you don’t.”
“That’s all right,” he said genially, “I don’t mind
scenes.”
He wouldn’t, she thought, eyeing him. He’d thrive
on them. “Look,” she began angrily, “I don’t know who
you are, but...”
“David Katcherton,” he volunteered with another
easy smile. “Katch. What time should I pick you up?”
“You’re not going to pick me up,” she said distinctly.
“Not now, not later.” Megan cast a quick look around.
The market was all but empty. She couldn’t cause a
decent scene if she’d wanted to. “Let go of my hand,”
she ordered firmly.
“The Chamber of Commerce claims Myrtle Beach is
a friendly town, Meg.” Katch released her hand. “You’re
going to give them a bad name.”
“And stop calling me Meg,” she said furiously. “I
don’t know you.”
She stomped off, wheeling the basket in front of her.
“You will.” He made the claim quietly, but she heard
him.
Their eyes met again, hers dark with temper, his
assured. Turning away, she quickened her pace to the
check-out counter.
“You wouldn’t believe what happened at the market.”
Megan set the bag on the kitchen table with a thump.
Her grandfather sat at the table, on one of the four
matching maple chairs, earnestly tying a fly. He grunted
in acknowledgment but didn’t glance up. Wires and
feathers and weights were neatly piled in front of him.
“This man,” she began, pulling the bread from the
top bag. “This incredibly rude man tried to pick me
up. Right in the cookie section.” Megan frowned as
she stored tea bags in a canister. “He wanted me to go
to dinner with him.”
“Hmm.” Her grandfather meticulously attached a
yellow feather to the fly. “Have a nice time.”
“Pop!” Megan shook her head in frustration, but a
smile tugged at her mouth.
Timothy Miller was a small, spare man in his mid-
sixties. His round, lined face was tanned, surrounded
by a shock of white hair and a full beard. The beard
was soft as a cloud and carefully tended. His blue eyes,
unfaded by the years, were settled deeply into the folds
and lines of his face. They missed little. Megan could
see he was focused on his lures. That he had heard her at
all was a tribute to his affection for his granddaughter.
Moving over, she dropped a kiss on the crown of his
head. “Going fishing tomorrow?”
“Yessiree, bright and early.” Pop counted out his as-
sortment of lures and mentally reviewed his strategy.
Fishing was a serious business. “The truck should be
fixed this evening. I’ll be back before supper.”
Megan nodded, giving him a second kiss. He needed
his fishing days. The amusement parks opened for busi-
ness on weekends in the spring and fall. In the three
summer months they worked seven days a week. The
summer kept the town alive; it drew tourists, and tour-
ists meant business. For one-fourth of the year, the town
swelled from a population of thirteen or fourteen thou-
sand to three hundred thousand. The bulk of those three
hundred thousand people had come to the small coastal
town to have fun.
To provide it, and make his living, her grandfather
worked hard. He always had, Megan mused. It would
have been a trial if he hadn’t loved the park so much.
It had been part of her life for as long as she could re-
member.
Megan had been barely five when she had lost her
parents. Over the years, Pop had been mother, father
and friend to her. And Joyland was home to her as much
as the beach-side cottage they lived in. Years before,
they had turned to each other in grief. Now, their love
was bedrock firm. With the exclusion of her grandfa-
ther, Megan was careful with her emotions, for once
involved, they were intense. When she loved, she loved
totally.
“Trout would be nice,” she murmured, as she gave
him a last, quick hug. “We’ll have to settle for tuna cas-
serole tonight.”
“Thought you were going out.”
“Pop!” Megan leaned back against the stove and
pushed her hair from her face with both hands. “Do
you think I’d spend the evening with a man who tried
to pick me up with a bag of chocolate chip cookies?”
With a jerk of her wrist, she flicked on the burner under
the teakettle.
“Depends on the man.” She saw the twinkle in his
eye as he glanced up at her. Megan knew she finally
had his full attention. “What’d he look like?”
“A beach bum,” she retorted, although she knew the
answer wasn’t precisely true. “With a bit of cowboy
thrown in.” She smiled then in response to Pop’s grin.
“Actually, he had a great face. Lean and strong, very
attractive in an unscrupulous sort of way. He’d do well
in bronze.”
“Sounds interesting. Where’d you meet him again?”
“In the cookie section.”
“And you’re going to fix tuna casserole instead of
having dinner out?” Pop gave a heavy sigh and shook
his head. “I don’t know what’s the matter with this girl,”
he addressed a favored lure.
“He was cocky,” Megan claimed and folded her
arms. “And he leered at me. Aren’t grandfathers sup-
posed to tote shotguns around for the purpose of dis-
couraging leerers?”
“Want to borrow one and go hunting for him?”
The shrill whistling of the kettle drowned out her re-
sponse. Pop watched Megan as she rose to fix the tea.
She was a good girl, he mused. A bit too serious
about things at times, but a good girl. And a beauty,
too. It didn’t surprise him that a stranger had tried to
make a date with her. He was more surprised that it
hadn’t happened more often. But Megan could discour-
age a man without opening her mouth, he recalled. All
she had to do was aim one of her “I beg your pardon”
looks and most of them backed off. That seemed to be
the way she wanted it.
Between the amusement park and her art, she never
seemed to have time for much socializing. Or didn’t
make time, Pop amended thoughtfully. Still, he wasn’t
certain that he didn’t detect more than just annoyance
in her attitude toward the man in the market. Unless
he missed his guess, she had been amused and perhaps
a touch attracted. Because he knew his granddaughter
well, he decided to let the subject ride for the time being.
“The weather’s supposed to hold all weekend,” he
commented as he carefully placed his lures in his fish-
ing box. “There should be a good crowd in the park.
Are you going to work in the arcade?”
“Of course.” Megan set two cups of tea on the table
and sat again. “Have those seats been adjusted on the
Ferris wheel?”
“Saw to it myself this morning.” Pop blew on his tea
to cool it, then sipped.
He was relaxed, Megan saw. Pop was a simple man.
She’d always admired his unassuming manner, his quiet
humor, his lack of pretensions. He loved to watch peo-
ple enjoy. More, she added with a sigh, than he liked
to charge them for doing so. Joyland never made more
than a modest profit. He was, Megan concluded, a much
better grandfather than businessman.
To a large extent, it was she who handled the profit-
and-loss aspect of the park. Though the responsibility
took time away from her art, she knew it was the park
that supported them. And, more important, it was the
park that Pop loved.
At the moment, the books were teetering a bit too
steeply into the red for comfort. Neither of them spoke
of it at any length with the other. They mentioned im-
provements during the busy season, talked vaguely
about promoting business during the Easter break and
over Memorial Day weekend.
Megan sipped at her tea and half listened to Pop’s
rambling about hiring summer help. She would see to
it when the time came. Pop was a whiz in dealing with
cranky machines and sunburned tourists, but he tended
to overpay and underwork his employees. Megan was
more practical. She had to be.
I’ll have to work full-time myself this summer, she
reflected. She thought fleetingly of the half-completed
sculpture in her studio over the garage. It’ll just have
to wait for December, she told herself and tried not to
sigh. There’s no other way until things are on a more
even keel again. Maybe next year...it was always next
year. There were things to do, always things to do. With
a small shrug, she turned back to Pop’s monologue.
“So, I figure we’ll get some of the usual college kids
and drifters to run the rides.”
“I don’t imagine that’ll be a problem,” Megan mur-
mured. Pop’s mention of drifters had led her thoughts
back to David Katcherton.
Katch, she mused, letting his face form in her mind
again. Ordinarily, she’d have cast his type as a drifter,
but there had been something more than that. Megan
prided herself on her observations, her characteriza-
tions of people. It annoyed her that she wasn’t able to
make a conclusive profile on this man. It annoyed her
further that she was again thinking of a silly encounter
with a rude stranger.
“Want some more tea?” Pop was already making
his way to the stove when Megan shook herself back.
“Ah...yeah, sure.” She scolded herself for dwelling
on the insignificant when there were things to do. “I
guess I’d better start dinner. You’ll want an early night
if you’re going fishing in the morning.”
“That’s my girl.” Pop turned the flame back on under
the kettle as he glanced out the window. He cast a quick
look at his unsuspecting granddaughter. “I hope you’ve
got enough for three,” he said casually. “It looks like
your beach-cowboy found his way to the ranch.”
“What?” Megan’s brows drew together as she stood
up.
“A perfect description, as usual, Megan,” Pop
complimented her as he watched the man approach,
loose-limbed with a touch of a swashbuckler, a strong,
good-looking face. Pop liked his looks. He turned with
a grin as Megan walked to the window to stare out. Pop
suppressed a chuckle at her expression.
“It is him,” she whispered, hardly believing her eyes
as she watched Katch approach her kitchen door.
“I thought it might be,” Pop said mildly.
“Of all the nerve,” she muttered darkly. “Of all the
incredible nerve!”