Texas Heat (6 page)

Cary grinned. “You had your chance.”

Amelia escaped temptation by flying into the bathroom. Chances. Maybe that's what her life really was, just one chance after another. Susan's announcement had come as a shock. Cary was only a few years older than Susan. Did he compare ages? If it hadn't occurred to him already, it soon would that she, Amelia, was almost like a grandmother to Susan's baby. Grandmothers, those little shrunken women with rosy cheeks and sparkling white aprons to match their hair. She didn't fill the bill and neither did Billie. But there was a new breed of grandmother these days: taller, slimmer women who hid their age with the help of Clairol, belly suctions, and face lifts.

Stepping up to the bathroom mirror, Amelia studied herself. She was a network of fine scar lines almost invisible to the naked eye. But she knew where each and every line was. Time and gravity, those two ancient enemies to be warded off at all cost. Especially now, especially since Cary.

A rigid regimen of diet and exercise, torment and torture, was worth every deprivation, every sore muscle, if it meant having Cary. She lifted her arm and looked into the mirror over her shoulder. No trace of a wrinkle or loose, crinkly skin. She could wear a sleeveless dress without a worry. For the time being, at least. Sooner or later it was going to catch up with her, and then what? Cary wouldn't want her then. Amelia peered closer into the glass. Behind the visage of a smooth-skinned, wide-eyed, almost beautiful woman, she saw a Disney version of an old hag crooning in a cracked and wicked voice, “Mirror, mirror on the wall . . .”

Upon reentering the bedroom after her shower, Amelia found Cary struggling with the string tie he was attempting to thread through a silver clasp. “Damn it, I'm going to look as stupid in this getup as that kid did this afternoon. What's his name, Cole?”

After Amelia came to his rescue and fastened the tie, he stepped back and struck a pose by shoving his thumbs into his belt. “What d'you think? Will I pass muster?” His Western-cut pants fit him like a glove, hugging his thighs and falling to exactly the correct spot over his boots.

Amelia pretended to ponder. Would he pass muster! Every female with a hormone left in her body would be after him tonight, and some of these Texan ladies were like barracuda in open water. “You'll do,” she said offhandedly. “I only hope I won't have to defend your honor later on tonight.”

Cary's brows rose slightly. There was an angry, feral glitter in his dark eyes. “What's that supposed to mean? You make me sound like a fox in a chicken coop!” It annoyed him when Amelia said things like this. Christ, didn't she know he loved her? She was everything he wanted in a woman: smart, classy, affectionate, and open-hearted. Women were strange. Why couldn't they just accept things, accept the truth and go on from there? Why did they always have to look for problems? He knew exactly what he wanted and that's why he'd married her.

It hadn't been easy kicking and clawing his way to where he was now. Growing up in an orphanage, barely making it through high school and having no way of going on to college. He'd been street-bred and street-raised. Life had been tough, but he'd never forgotten his debts. He'd started out driving rich people's cars cross-country, making contacts and eventually going into the limousine and rental car business. By the age of twenty-nine he'd made his first million in real estate, but long before that he'd been sending monthly checks to St. Anthony's Orphanage in downtown Chicago. He was a hustler and didn't have a lot of class or polish like these Colemans, but he could hold his head up. Self-made. From what Amelia had told him, her old man had been self-made. That said a lot for a man and his character. Class could be bought and the polish would come later.

Having a seven-figure bank balance and another ten million on paper didn't make Cary feel rich, compared to these Colemans. He couldn't imagine, considering his humble beginnings, what it would be like to live like this, to be so damned important that a governor would drop everything to attend a Fourth of July picnic. Strange, this life of the Texas rich—but something he could take to like a duck to water. Cary's financial success had come from making the right deals, being in the right place at the right time. Luck. Relationships and friendships had never entered into it. Cold, impersonal phone calls, listening to the advice of brokers, and having a nose for money had been the extent of his involvement. Now Cary found himself wanting to belong in Texas, and that feeling was strong. Amelia could guide him, introduce him, set him on the right course. He'd mingle with people who weren't overwhelmed by his wealth, play a friendly game of golf, and be welcomed for himself, not just because someone wanted to talk a deal.

“You're deep in thought.” Amelia glanced at her husband's reflection in the vanity mirror. “I didn't mean to offend you, really I didn't. You're a city boy; you've no idea how little chance a fox actually has if there are enough chickens in the coop. And there'll be enough chickens here tonight. I can't blame you because you're so damned attractive, so don't blame me if I'm a little jealous and insecure. I worry that you might regret marrying me.. But if I were ten years younger, darling, the shoe would be on the other foot.” She meant to convey teasing humor; instead her tone came across as bitter.

“If I ever regret marrying you, you'll be the first to know. I don't like it when you talk like this. I thought we agreed you weren't going to keep harping on this damned age business.”

Amelia blew him a kiss and returned to her mascara.

“And there's something I don't understand. How come men wear plaid shirts and sport coats and the women wear gowns and jewels?”

“Because you're in Texas; that's the way we do things. The way the women dress is how the men are measured. Get it?”

Cary digested the information and nodded. “Makes sense, if you're a Texan. How much did that gown you're wearing cost?”

“You don't want to know. Besides, it was before I married you.”

“I'm serious, Amelia. How much?”

“You are serious, aren't you? . . . Four thousand.”

“For one dress!”

“For one itty-bitty dress,” Amelia drawled. “You don't want me looking tacky, do you?”

“God forbid!”

“I know how you can spend your evening. Get together with Rand. He has quite an eye for jewelry. Between the two of you, you can calculate the cost of what the women are wearing. It'll blow your mind.”

“You have five minutes, Amelia,” he told her, looking at his watch.

“God! I'll never be ready in time! Hurry—help me with these snaps and hooks.” When he'd finished his struggle with the tiny hooks and even tinier eyes, she turned to face him. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think you're going to outshine everyone else,” he said, approval lighting his eyes. Her cocktail-length dress was made of some silky sapphire-blue material that rustled softly and shone like satin. Cut high in the front with bell-shaped sleeves, it was nearly backless, revealing the graceful sweep of her back and flawless light olive skin. Cary realized it was the cut and fabric, rather than any ornamentation, that lent the dress its elegance. He especially approved of the way it revealed Amelia's shapely legs and trim ankles, showcasing her sexy high-heeled sandals. “Honey, you're a knockout.” He whistled. “Wear that perfume that drives me nuts.”

Amelia promptly spritzed herself with Van Cleef & Arpels' “First.” Sapphire and diamond earrings and a simple matching brooch worn high on the left shoulder was all the jewelry this dress demanded. Cary sniffed with delight and put his arms around her from behind. She loved it when he groaned with pleasure and nibbled behind her ear. It was a good thing he didn't ask how much the perfume cost.

Austin society arrived in Mercedes-Benzes, Rolls Royces,
stretch limos, Ford Rangers, and pickup trucks. They came to see the Coleman women and weren't disappointed. An hour into the party and Maggie's eyes were sparkling.

She'd been accepted. Oh, she'd seen the little huddles, could imagine what all the whispering was about, but she didn't care. She'd pulled it off—with the help of her family. On her own it would have taken years. But with this one magnificent master stroke, Austin was hers. You didn't offend a Coleman.

Maggie beamed and bustled about. In December when the society reporters rehashed the year's social events, Maggie knew this affair would be number one on the list. She felt wonderful—until she saw Cole draped over a chair on the back patio. He'd been drinking. God, if he threw up, it could ruin everything. For a moment she panicked; then she saw Rand walking toward her. If she could get his assistance, she just might be able to avoid a scene. But before she could wind her way through the knots of people, Rand was out of sight. As she neared Cole she saw that Riley was already there. His left arm was braced against the stone wall while his right arm held her son up. He was laughing and Cole was snarling.

“Darlings,” Maggie cooed, coming up quickly behind Riley, “I think both of you should go indoors and get something to eat or some coffee.”

“I'll second that,” Rand said firmly. Maggie whirled, relief shining from her eyes. “If you can do some fancy footwork and a little chitchat, I think I can get Cole into the house without too much of a stir. Riley will help me.”

“I don't need any help from you or any slant-eyed Jap,” said Cole.

“If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a drunk. A nasty drunk is worse,” Maggie said coldly. “This is unforgivable, Coleman.” To Riley she added, “He didn't mean what he said. You can see he's not himself.”

“It's all right, Aunt Maggie. I think I got to him before anyone saw what was happening.”

Maggie was rainbow bright as she danced her way around the clusters of guests, stopping to chat first with one group, then another. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Rand's progress. As soon as it was possible, she darted through the wide French doors and headed for the kitchen to join them. She was disgusted and ashamed of her son, doubly ashamed of his cruel remark to Riley.

“Cole's a bit young to be hitting the sauce,” Rand said coolly.

“It's my fault. I should have kept an eye on him. He was angry . . . is angry with me. . . . I was so busy....”

“Don't defend him, Maggie. He's old enough to know better. There's nothing worse than a mean drunk. A mean sixteen-year-old drunk is something I don't even want to discuss. I think it's time to get him into the bathroom. Grab him, Riley.”

Maggie watched in dismay as Rand and Riley literally dragged her son into the bathroom. The familiar sounds that filtered through the door made her wince. She'd been on that end more times than she cared to remember.

She paced the kitchen uncertainly, feeling down. Her son needed her, yet she should also be with her guests, circulating. Her hand was on the doorknob when Rand opened it.

“Go back to the party, Maggie. I'll get him to bed. I'll let you know when he's tucked in.”

“I should be . . . How could this . . . I feel . . .”

“Guilty? Look, the kid is drunk. He's sick. It's not the end of the world. We'll get him to bed and tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with it. Trust me, Maggie.”

“Go ahead, Aunt Maggie. We can handle it,” Riley said.

“If you're sure... Thank you, Rand,” Maggie said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. For one startled moment she stared deeply into his eyes. It was Maggie who looked away first.

Forty minutes later, Rand sought her out as she stood in a family group. “We stuck him under the shower and put him to bed; he's sound asleep. He's going to have a big head tomorrow, but he'll survive.”

“I'm grateful, Rand. It could have been disastrous. What can I do to thank you?”

Riley didn't flinch when Sawyer's nails bit into his arm. He could feel the trembling in her body. There was something wrong. “Dance with me,” he said abruptly.

“Nice try, Riley. I'm not in the mood to dance. What I need is a drink, maybe two or even three.”

“Make it one. I've had enough drunks for one night.”

“That's what I like, an opinionated male,” Sawyer said bitterly as she headed for the bar. Riley came up behind her in time to hear her order a double Scotch straight up. Damn Cole Tanner.

When the last shower of fireworks lit the heavens and the final strain of “Deep in the Heart of Texas” filled the air, Maggie loosed a sigh of relief. It was three-forty-five in the morning, and as far as she could tell, not a single guest had left. This, then, was the closing signal. Unless, of course, she wanted to serve a champagne breakfast at dawn. Tiredly, she toyed with the idea. It would be a massive undertaking.

“Don't even think it,” Amelia whispered, coming up behind her. “I've danced my feet off and it's time for bed. Just start saying good night and they'll leave. Pap used to stand up and say, ‘That's it folks, party's over!' It was a real smash, Maggie; you did yourself proud.”

Maggie turned eagerly to Amelia, warming to her aunt's affection. “I couldn't have done it without all of you. I know that now. Hell, I knew it from the beginning.” She smiled wearily. “By the way, that's some guy you got there. I like him, Aunt Amelia.”

“So do I, and I thought we were going to dispense with that aunt routine.”

“Habit. I'll try and remember. So, how does your husband like all of us?”

“What's not to like? He adores us, all of us. If you want the truth, I think this little shindig blew his socks off. To him a barbecue is hot dogs and hamburgers on a grill in the backyard. Six guests, tops. He'll get used to us Texans. I think he's serious about wanting to buy that property he was talking about. High middle-income housing. Something like that.”

“If he is serious and wants to look into it, why don't you both stay on here until he makes up his mind. God knows there's plenty of room. You could see more of the boys, and Cary might be a good influence on them. Think about it. Uh-oh, they're getting ready to leave. Once Orwell Snyder puts on his Stetson, that means he's going home. Come, we have to smile and play the game.”

That's exactly what it was—a game. Winners and losers. And tonight, for the first time, Maggie was a winner.

When the massive oak doors closed for the last time, the weary Coleman family followed one another up the long, circular staircase.

“This house needs an elevator,” Susan complained. Her husband shot her an angry look and leaped up the steps two at a time. Susan held on to the rail, each step torture for her aching, swollen feet.

Billie, walking behind her, kept silent. She knew Jerome wouldn't appreciate interference from her or anyone else. Then, as she waited for Thad to open the bedroom door, she pretended not to see the hunger in Sawyer's eyes as Rand said good night and left her standing outside his bedroom door.

Come home to Sunbridge and all its problems, Billie thought wearily. Welcome home.

Maggie stopped to chat a moment with Sawyer, then looked in on Riley. She let the boy hug her and kiss her soundly on the cheek. “It was a great party, Aunt Maggie. I'm glad I was here to help celebrate.”

“This is your home, Riley, for as long as you want. Remember that.”

“Thank you, Aunt Maggie. Get some rest; you look tired.”

“I am, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep. I think I'll have a cup of tea and maybe unwind all by myself. Sleep well.”

Maggie had had no intention of having a cup of tea, but once she mentioned it, the idea sounded good. She fussed with the kettle and found the tea bags in the canister on the kitchen counter.

She carried her cup outside to the front lawn, glad of the cool, early-morning air and the silence. Carefully she picked her way through the party debris. Tomorrow the caterers would clean up, but now there was just quiet and solitude. She was sitting with her feet propped, heels kicked off, when she realized she wasn't alone.

“Too much party?”

“Rand! I thought you'd be sound asleep by now.”

“I never sleep when I have things on my mind.”

“I'm like that, too. This party was so important to me, and now that it's over I have to unwind. I thought tea would help. I don't drink anymore.”

“I noticed. Maybe one of these days I'll go on the wagon myself.”

“How long are you staying?” Maggie asked quickly. She had no desire to discuss her abstinence from alcohol; it was a private thing.

Rand shrugged. Maggie shrugged back. Colemans didn't limit their invitations; he knew he could stay a month and be welcome. She settled back in her chair.

“I don't know which I like best, the sound of the crickets at night or the early-morning chirping of the birds,” she said, sipping her tea. “The birds, I suppose, because their chirping means the beginning of a new day. I'm into new beginnings.”

Maggie's words startled Rand. This soft-spoken, almost humble person wasn't the Maggie he had avoided in the past. “I can understand that,” he replied, so softly Maggie had to strain to hear him. “I'm more or less in a winding-down process myself. So, I suppose that's a new beginning of sorts. I'll have to adjust my life and go on from there.”

“Sort of getting your house in order, that kind of thing?” Rand laughed. “I guess you could say that. Tonight convinced me that I want to sit back now and enjoy my life. I'm not getting any younger—that's for certain.”

“None of us are. It's amazing where life has taken us. Good things, bad things, things that are so meaningless in the end and yet so crucial at the time. Do you suppose this is a time to mend fences, to ride into the future without regard for the past?”

“For some of us. But there are always fences that are impossible to mend, words said that can't be taken back, only be forgiven.” Guiltily he thought of Sawyer. He should be upstairs right now, this minute, making love to her. She had expected it—he read it in her eyes. “That's what hurts, that's when you have to be strong—do what must be done, say what must be said, and suffer the consequences. . . .” Rand smiled. “Early-morning philosophies always sound so profound,” he mused. “I wonder why. Perhaps because the early hour simply lends an air of profoundness to very ordinary observations.”

Maggie leaned her head back, eyes closed, thinking about what he'd said.

“You should go to bed, Maggie. In an hour or so the sun will be completely up.”

“That's okay by me. The dark and I don't get along. I sleep with a night-light, and if you ever tell anyone, I'll deny it.”

Rand laughed, a genuine sound of amusement; it made him realize that he hadn't laughed in some time. “I can top that. I have this raggedy old cat that goes everywhere with me. It has a permanent niche in my suitcase, and I can tell you I've gotten some pretty curious looks when I go through customs. Still, where I go, she goes.”

“Sally Dearest?” Maggie asked in amazement.

“You remembered?”

“Remember? When we were little I would have killed to get that cat away from you. It was so broken in, so ugly, so incredibly...”

“Dirty and mended. It was my security blanket. I guess in some ways we never give those things up; we only trade them in for other things. Still, old Sally Dearest was a comfort.”

“I wouldn't know about comfort. I was never permitted to take anything to bed with me. I wasn't allowed to suck my thumb or anything children do to settle themselves down. We went to bed cold turkey, and we slept or we didn't, but we went to bed. Nurse was a bitch.”

“You survived,” Rand said softly. He lifted his glass to get the last ice cube and started crunching on it. Maggie liked the sound.

“If you want to call it surviving,” she said. “God! I'd never want to go through that again. Youth isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

“It's good you understand that, Maggie. I think you're due for a round of battles. Cole is a very unhappy young man.”

“I know. What I don't know is how much of his unhappiness is my responsibility, or what I can do about it. We'll work it out,” Maggie said confidently. “We have to.”

“I hope so.”

“You're doubtful?”

“I am. Perhaps Riley being here isn't such a good idea. Cole already resents him. Riley will do his part; family and friendships are important to him. But Cole feels intruded upon; that's evident. That kind of bitterness is personal, Maggie, and has nothing to do with prejudice. I have the feeling your guts are going to be churning from time to time. But if you listen to your heart, if you're fair with both boys, I think you'll be able to handle it. That's the key word, Maggie. Fair.”

“You're probably right, Rand,” Maggie said quietly. Already, she knew she preferred Riley, although she loved Coleman because he was her child. A finger of guilt touched her. No, she thought, shaking her head, that was just being honest. Who wouldn't prefer the open genuineness and affection of Riley to the darker, troubled, guarded Cole?

Rand turned to look over his shoulder toward the east. “It's been a long time since I've seen the sun come up,” he said softly.

“Well, you're in the right place. There's nothing to compare to sunrise in Texas, unless, of course, it's the sunset.”