Texas fury (16 page)

Yes, she thought, if her father had known about her, he would have christened her Chesney Amelia Nelson.

Chesney's gaze shifted from the creeping dawn to her bedside table and a picture of herself and her friend Sara. It was the only photograph in the entire flat worthy of framing and prominence. It was a somber, solemn picture, but to Chesney it represented who she was then and who she was now. It was a reminder of what she and Sara had endured. Because they had endured, she would not allow that time to be forgotten. She was Chesney M. Brighton—orphan and airline stewardess. Chesney M. Brighton, seeker of her heritage and her future. If things worked out, she might one day be one of them.

Sawyer let herself into her small house at noon. It had been careless of her to leave behind the most important papers she needed for the day. She'd looked them over earlier, when she woke. She'd spilled coffee and had tried to dry them off. Always aware of time since her operation, she'd realized she was running late and simply forgot to stuff the papers into her briefcase. Now she was home, cursing her carelessness. She decided to fix herself a cheese sandwich and tea and to forget about not taking a lunch hour. She was halfway through the sandwich when she heard the tinkle of the bell at her garden gate. She walked to the kitchen window. The gardener never rang the bell. He had his own key. She wasn't expecting any

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deliveries, either. There was no panic or fear in her as she walked through the Zen garden to the gate—only curiosity. She fitted her key into the lock and pushed outward. Standing before her was a tall woman about her own age. She wore fashionable clothes, and her hairstyle was simple but elegant. Just the tiniest bit of makeup around her eyes. Beautiful, Sawyer thought. And something else. She swallowed hard and asked if she could be of help.

The voice was soft, cultured and very British. "Are you Sawyer Coleman?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Chesney Brighton. My name should be Chesney Nelson. I'm Rand Nelson's daughter. I'm trying to locate him. I was told you might be able to help me." No expression. Just cold, hard, matter-of-fact words.

Sawyer struggled to recover her composure. She locked the gate and led the way into the house, trying to quiet her jumping nerves. Rand's daughter! He'd never mentioned having a daughter. The likeness was there, especially around the eyes. Problems. Not for her but for Maggie and Rand. Maybe. Or maybe it wouldn't be a problem at all.

Sawyer could feel her heart beating erratically. Any mention of Rand Nelson made her ache because he was lost to her, married now to her own mother. And while she hurt and ached, she wouldn't have it any other way. Rand and Maggie were meant for each other. Who was she to deny them happiness? She tried never to think about the wonderful relationship she had shared with Rand years ago, and for the most part she was successful, but every now and then, like now, her past reared up and socked her, forcing her to administer a pep talk to herself. But she couldn't do that right now. Later, when she was alone, she'd tell herself how lucky she was to be alive. She'd concentrate on her comfortable life here in Japan, doing a job she loved for a family she'd die for. One day Rand Nelson would be nothing more than an interlude in her life that hadn't worked out.

"Tea?" Anything to stall for time. She had to collect her thoughts.

"I'd love some. I stopped by the Coleman office and was told you'd come here. I must have missed you by minutes. I hope I'm not intruding."

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"Not at all, but I don't understand why you've come to me."

"I was told that you and my father were . .. are ... that you were getting married. I've been searching for years."

"That was all a very long time ago. Rand, your. .. Rand is married to my mother. They... they live in Hawaii. I don't understand. ... If you're Rand's daughter, why are you searching for him?" She thought she knew the answer, but wanted to hear the words spoken aloud.

A sick feeling settled in Sawyer's stomach. Rand never wanted to have children. He'd confessed once that he wasn't fond of the little buggers. At the time she'd merely laughed, convinced that every man wants children at some point in his life, to carry on his name. Rand hadn't laughed in return. Instead he'd turned very serious and said he wasn't getting any younger and he was set in his ways and children would only complicate his life. She'd been so in love with him at the time that she'd accepted his decision without an argument.

Rand with a checkered past? Most men weren't saints, but then, most men didn't have illegitimate daughters who showed up from out of nowhere. Never once had Rand so much as hinted at a child. She could feel herself drifting back in her memory to that long-ago day when Rand Nelson upset her world ...

"There's something wrong, Rand. You .. . you seem to be avoiding me. . . .Have you had a change of heart?" She held her breath as she waited for his denial.

"Sawyer, there's no easy way to say this. .. .It won't work for us. We're worlds apart. You're young and you have your whole life ahead of you. You deserve children. I don't want children. I. . .1 don't think I ever want to get married."

"Is there someone else?" she blurted, unable to stop herself.

He seemed startlerf that she should ask, even offended. "No, of course there isn't. You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world."

"I don't know any such thing. I don't believe you. It's my mother! You've fallen for my mother!" Sawyer clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

She could feel herself start to choke.

She wrenched herself back to the moment and faced Ches-ney's voice.

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"I'm Rand Nelson's illegitimate daughter. I was brought up in an orphanage. I was left on the proverbial doorstep with the proverbial note pinned to my nappie. My mother was part of a touring entertainment group. She was young and wanted some adventure in her life. She met my father in Saigon. My father ... Rand Nelson was a chopper flyer for your government, on loan, I believe, from the British. My mother was sketchy on the details, and there was something about Mr. Nelson having a dual citizenship. He flew fire flights in country. It wasn't a war, you see, but more of an altercation; that's why my mother agreed to go with the tour. My ... Mr. Nelson used to go to Saigon on his days off, and that's how he met my mother. His favorite hangout was the Tigress Inn, or so my mother said. My mother believes he saw ... other women, but he always came back to her. She said she loved him very much. He... he was stationed in Da Nang."

She'd heard all this before. From Rand. She hoped what she was feeling wasn't showing in her face. How could this young woman know about the Tigress Inn? She nodded her head for Chesney to continue.

"Trouble developed with the tour group, and the leader went off and left the girls. They in turn got separated. Rand Nelson sort of looked out for my mother until he was called back. She tried to tell him about her pregnancy, but he ... he didn't want to hear and he had to leave. He gave her money. When the tour leader left, he had all the girls' passports and their last week's wages. They were left high and dry. She used the money Mr. Nelson gave her to buy letters of transit on the black market, and the Red Cross got her safely back to England, which is where she had me. End of sad story," Chesney said ruefully. "When it became permissible for orphans to seek out their parents, I searched for and found my mother. At first she refused to tell me anything. She's married now, with a family of her own, and didn't want to disgrace them. I understood. At first she lied to me, saying she didn't know who my father was. I felt she wasn't telling me the truth and I felt she wasn't a promiscuous woman, so I kept going back to her house, day after day, week after week, until I finally wore down her resistance. There is no place in her life for me now. I recognized that and told her she has nothing to fear from me. I don't know if there's a place in my father's life for me either, but I want to see him. I was told that you and he. . . Well,

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what I mean is, information was skimpy and I was lucky to get as much as I did. Do you understand what I've been telling you, Miss Coleman?"

"Every word," Sawyer choked out. What was this going to do to Rand and Maggie? Bring them closer together or cause problems? "Does Rand know? What I mean is, did your mother agree to have an abortion? Did she tell Rand she would?"

Soft gray eyes stared directly into Sawyer's concerned gaze. "I have to assume he thought she had an abortion. So to answer your question, no, he doesn't know of my existence."

"And you want me to put you in touch with your father?" Sawyer held her breath. Of course that's what she wanted. If she were in her position, she'd want the same thing. She knew what it was to grow up without a father.

"I was hoping... I thought you could... what is the expression?... pave the way for me so it wouldn't come as such a shock to him."

The young woman's control was too tight, Sawyer thought. She wanted to know what else Chesney knew about Rand, but she was afraid to ask. Should she check her out? She could be anybody. The girl had managed to track her down halfway around the world. She didn't look like she was hurting for money. Searches like this cost a lot.

Sawyer took a deep breath. "If what you say is true ..." She let the sentence hang in midair.

Chesney waited.

"I can't, I just can't invade my mother's life and make. . . and upset their lives. For all I know, you could be an impostor. Do you have any sort of documentation?" As if she needed any. The girl was almost an exact replica of Rand. She could be some sort of distant relative, though, not necessarily a daughter. Rand was a wealthy man.

"I understand what you're going through," Chesney said. "You must be wondering about a lot of things. Where am I getting the money to do this, for one. It would be much too costly under ordinary circumstances, but I'm a stewardess. I can pretty much fly all over the world on my time off and pay only the tax. My job pays well and I've been frugal. It's the best I can offer for now."

"What was your mother's name?"

"Marion Brighton. My mother did one thing to help me. She gave me this." Chesney drew out her billfold, snapped it

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open, and withdrew a faded and wrinkled snapshot. She handed it to Sawyer.

It was blurred, as if the person who took the picture hadn't focused the camera properly, so it was impossible to tell if the handsome pilot standing next to a smiling young woman was Rand or not. The cocky angle of his cap made her think it was. She'd seen him stand in exactly the same position many times. Loose. Cock of the walk. She handed back the picture.

There was a desperate note in Chesney's voice when she spoke next. "My mother told me things. It's true that most of them must be public knowledge, but there were a few... intimate things, the kinds of things lovers say to one another. I don't think I should repeat them unless it's to my father."

Sawyer's head was bobbing. "Yes, you're right. Look, I have to get back to the office. Why don't we meet this evening and have dinner—seven at the Okura. Will that be all right?"

"That will be fine. I appreciate your seeing and talking with me." Chesney smiled warmly and held out her hand. Sawyer grasped it firmly. She'd always prided herself on her manly handshake. She'd met her match.

The afternoon dragged. Chesney kept intruding into Sawyer's thoughts. It was three-thirty when she picked up the phone to call Hawaii. Should she ask for Maggie or Rand? Should she just blurt her news, or choose her words carefully and try to soften the blow? And it was going to be a blow, especially to Maggie. Rand was going to have to deal with a daughter, a grown daughter who was old enough to have children of her own. Maggie. She'd speak to Maggie. Maggie would know how to deal with it. She sighed with relief when she heard her mother's voice.

"Sawyer! How nice of you to call. I was going to write you a letter today. Now you've saved me the trouble—you know how I hate to write letters! There isn't anything wrong, is there?" Maggie asked anxiously. "Mr. Hasegawa isn't..."

"He's doing as well as can be expected. I don't know if what I have to tell you is to be considered something wrong or not. I've been sitting here for the past few hours trying to decide how to... to tell you. ..."

"For God's sake, Sawyer, what is it? Damn Rand, he went to Hilo today to see about a sugarcane plantation. He wants to buy it. Stop me from babbling, Sawyer. I know you aren't an

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alarmist, but goddamn it, you are alarming me. You never call in the middle of the day. What is it, Sawyer?"

Maggie listened while Sawyer told her of her noontime visitor. She heard Maggie's gasp but kept on talking. "I'm supposed to meet her this evening at the Okura. She seems to be legitimate, and Maggie, she looks like Rand, so much so that it's spooky. I don't know what else to say."

"I don't either. How am I going to tell this to Rand?"

"The same way I told it to you. Just say it. Maggie, I'm the last one in the world that would ever try to advise you, but..."

"Lay back, is that it?"

"I think so. It's going to be a shock to Rand. Be there for him."

"Of course," Maggie said soberly. "How is everything, Sawyer?"

"Fine. Cole's coming over in ten days. We'll party and liven things up. Every time he comes over here, he roots me out of bed at six in the morning to walk down the Ginza. He really gets off on it. Someday I'm going to find out why."

"He probably saw someone do it in the movies and it stuck with him," Maggie said in a quiet voice. Usually she laughed indulgently when she heard something about Cole she didn't know. Mothers were like that.

"Do you want me to call you this evening after dinner?"

"Yes. If I know Rand, he's going to want to take the next plane out. Thanks for calling, Sawyer. We'll be in touch. Don't be surprised if we show up on your doorstep in the next day or so."

"You're welcome," Sawyer said warmly.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"You bet." Good-byes were so awkward. No one ever seemed to know how to hang up a phone or get out a door. Sometimes good-byes were longer than actual visits. "I'll be in touch tonight, then. Good-bye, Maggie."