Texas Sunrise (2 page)

“Good night, darling. We'll talk again in a few days. Give my regards to Rand.”

“I love you, Mam.”

“I love you too. Bye, darling.”

Billie wiped at the tears on her cheeks. Her head dropped to her hands. She wished, as she wished every day of her life, that her only son hadn't died during the war. Maggie and Susan both needed a brother, now more than ever. How was she to secure their lives? Should she even try? She needed to know that her family was safe and secure before she . . . She would do whatever she had to. All she needed was strength and a little more time. But time was her enemy now. It wouldn't be enough to simply persevere. She would have to prevail.

Cole Tanner looked around, his eyes widening in stunned surprise, certain what he thought he was hearing was real; his father-in-law, Shadaharu Hasegawa's voice crying on the gentle April breeze. A second later he realized it was his own thought he'd actually voiced aloud. “That about sums it up,” he said bitterly, his eyes raised to the umbrella of shell-pink blossoms overhead. He remembered the time he carried the frail old Japanese down the hill, the fragile blossoms covering his wasted body. He'd come many times to this peaceful, tranquil spot in the past three years. He held out his hands, palms upward, and watched as the pale, pink blossoms filled his hands. They were beautiful this year, the petals almost translucent. He wondered if it meant something special or if this was just an exceptional year for the cherry blossoms.

He talked because it was the only thing he could think of to do. “I did nothing different. I studied and followed your methods, and it wasn't enough. I worked hard, stretched myself thin to do all that was required. I never slacked off, not once, and yet I failed to move Rising Sun forward. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Most of the others, those closest to you, are certain you . . . made the wrong choice. I can see it in their eyes, and right now I feel the same way. I don't know where to turn. I came here to meditate as you used to do. I have to believe your trust in me was misguided, that Riley is the one who should be in control of Rising Sun, not me. I'm not worthy.” Cole bowed his head in shame, his eyes burning.

Cole meditated silently, and eventually slept, his weary mind succumbing to the tranquility of the cherry blossom hill. Tortured dreams took him to a faraway place he neither knew nor understood. When he awoke, it was with the name Shigata Mitsu on his lips, though he had never heard it before. Sumi was on her knees next to him.

“I came to tell you that Sawyer called. She will call back in an hour. She says it is important to talk with you.” She was panting with her walk up the hill.

Cole felt instantly contrite. “Why didn't you just call me instead of walking all this way?” he admonished gently.

“Because I wanted to come here with you. The exercise was good for me, but I think you can carry me down.”

“All ninety-seven pounds of you?” Cole teased.

“Actually, it is ninety-eight and a half as of this morning.”

“That's because you ate a bowl of ice cream and a slice of cake for breakfast,” Cole continued to tease. “You're worrying too much about me. I don't want you worrying. Things are going to turn around.”

Sumi laid her head on Cole's knee. “I know they will. My father chose you, and he never made mistakes in his judgment of people.”

He wanted to tell Sumi there was a first time for everything, but instead he asked, “Who is Shigata Mitsu?”

Sumi shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know. Both names are common in Japan, much like the names Michael and Jones in your country. Why do you ask, Cole?”

As Cole stroked his wife's black hair, his voice grew thoughtful, more thoughtful than Sumi had ever heard it. “I was meditating and I guess I dozed off. When I woke, I saw you, and the name was on the tip of my tongue. I don't know if I dreamed it or if it means something. I asked your father's spirit for guidance. Is it possible the name came from him?”

Sumi thought the spirit business silly; she was, after all, a modern Japanese in all ways. She had no time for spirits and legends and the like. She only wanted to deal in the here and now. In her opinion, it was highly unlikely that her father would venture from that nether world where he rested to somehow place a meaningless name on her husband's lips. No. Her father, if he did indeed leave the spirit world, would have asked for a glass of sake and a cigar.

“I do not know, Cole,” Sumi said honestly. “The name has a certain ring to it, a cadence, if you will. I personally never heard of it. We can ask my sisters and their husbands. Perhaps someone down at the paper or in one of the offices has heard it. The library!” she said with a sudden burst of insight. “Librarians know everything.”

“I knew I married you for a reason,” Cole teased. “I'll do that, first thing tomorrow. How are you feeling, Sumi?”

“Wonderful, now that you are paying attention to me.” Sumi sighed, loving this warm contact with her husband. These times now were few and far between, much to her chagrin. Her husband was always preoccupied, worried, and lately he was becoming so withdrawn that she was starting to become alarmed. So much so that she was thinking of writing Sawyer a long letter in the hope Cole's half sister would have some insight and perhaps offer some advice.

“Have I been that neglectful, Sumi?”

“Yes, Cole, you have. I understand how you feel, but my father did not make a mistake when he chose you to run Rising Sun. You must believe this.”

“Then why am I feeling this way?” He caught a lacy pink petal and placed it gently on his wife's lips. “It's almost as beautiful as you are,” he said, tracing the line of her lips and the petal at the same time.

“I don't ever remember the blossoms being this beautiful. I am sad that my father isn't here to see them. This was always such a special place for him. When I was very little, I would follow him up here and hide behind a bush and watch him. He prayed for us and . . . and ...”

“And what?” Cole asked, curious, as he caught another petal. “You know, my grandmother made a dress for Sawyer once that was this color. She took some of the blossoms home with her after a trip over here. Sawyer looked beautiful in her Billie original. See? I know a thing or two about fashion,” he said lightly.

“My father was offering up prayers of thanks. As a child I seem to remember . . . he was talking to someone, but no one was on the hill. I ran down and told my mother, and she said . . . she said he was probably talking to his . . . friend. Even back then, at the age of seven, I was a skeptic. I demanded to know what friend and if he was invisible like my imaginary playmates. My mother said . . . my mother said . . . what she said was ... oh, dear, I can't remember. It was so long ago. Come, we must get back, because Sawyer is going to call you. She said it was important.”

Cole was careful to keep his arm around her slim shoulders for support as he helped her to her feet. She was so tiny that she came only to the middle of his chest. If she'd been taller, he would have noticed the wild look in her eyes. As it was, he felt her body tremble and thought it was from exertion. He scooped her into his arms and started down the hill, the gentle breeze sending a wave of fragile, pink petals ahead of them.

“I think, Cole, that it is time for you to go back to Texas for a visit,” Sumi said.

“Later, after the baby is born. We'll all go. Don't you want to show off our firstborn?”

“Of course I do, but this time I think you need to go alone. I think you need to talk to your family. You may go as long as you swear in blood you will return.”

“In blood? Never!” Cole said in mock horror.

“Ha!” was all Sumi had to say.

When they reached the garden, he set her down and she said, “Sit, Cole, and I will bring you some Sapporo. It is time for me to take my vitamins and drink that awful tea the doctor prescribed. I'll bring the phone to you when Sawyer calls. Now relax.”

“You are the bossiest female I ever met,” Cole said, whacking her gently on the rump. “Fetch the Sapporo and I'll go for a walk in the garden. Go, go, go!”

Next to the cherry blossom hill, this garden was probably the most tranquil spot in the entire world. It had been planted and sculpted by a Zen master. When Shadaharu was alive, this garden had been his favorite spot. He'd said he wanted to die here, if only it wouldn't leave unhappy memories for his family.

Cole skirted a waterfall and crossed a rustic bridge before he sat down on a nearby bench. When it was time for
him
to die, would he want to die here on foreign soil, or would he want to go back to Texas? He shook his head to clear away these morbid thoughts. Where did they come from? Death was a long way off. He stared off into the distance and barely noticed Sumi when she set down a bottle of beer and the portable phone. She waited a moment, hoping he would ask her to join him. When he continued to stare at a banzai tree, she quietly withdrew, her eyes filled with tears. They were growing so far apart.

Whoever and whatever you are, Shigata Mitsu, you have been here in this garden. I feel it. He thought of words like karma, spirits, and guardian angels, and Shadaharu Hasegawa. There was always something bordering on the ethereal about the old Japanese. He'd mentioned it to Riley's grandfather the first time he set foot in the garden, and the old man had just smiled. He remembered that smile now because it had made him feel so alive and wanted. He also remembered the awe he felt when in the old man's presence. What's more, he had said so, to the old man's delight.

Many times here in this garden, sitting in this very spot, he'd felt Shadaharu's spirit. He felt the old man's hand on his shoulder when he allowed it to slump here in the privacy of this garden. He didn't see ghostly apparitions or trailing bits of fog or even hear singsong words. It was nothing like that at all. He just always knew the old man was there, which somehow made him more aware of the gentle breeze and the sound of his own footsteps. Once, not long ago, when he was feeling very vulnerable, he'd childishly set what he thought was a ghost trap. He'd brought out a small glass of sake, lighted a cigar and laid it carefully in an ashtray on a small table. He himself didn't like sake and never smoked cigars. He sat down to wait, his eyes on the little table. Then one of the children had called him to the phone. When he returned a long time later, the sake was gone and the cigar was nothing but a stub. One of the children, he told himself, or more likely, the cigar had simply burned out. Until he walked the same path the old Japanese had so many times, the same walk he'd taken with him. There, right in front of his eyes, were little piles of ash. He'd gotten goose bumps that day and never mentioned it to anyone. It was a secret he kept to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Shadaharu's spirit was trying to help him. If what he was experiencing wasn't real, then he was losing his mind. The question was, what was the old Japanese trying to tell him? Was he trying to warn him of something? Cole was tense, impatient, traits the Japanese frowned upon. He had to relax, meditate. What or who was Shigata Mitsu?

He realized he was waiting, but he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. A sign of some kind. He drank his beer, his eyes on the portable phone.
Shigata Mitsu
. He whispered the name, his voice soft and full of sadness. When nothing happened, Cole said, “I understand, old friend, one clue at a time.” He didn't know if he felt stupid or not, and he didn't have time to think about it then, for the phone rang. It was Sawyer, his port in a storm. She was always there for him, whenever he needed her. He loved his half sister, but not because she was always lovable; more often than not she was a royal pain in the ass.

“For Christ's sake, Sawyer, do you always have to come on the phone like a tornado? I can hear you just fine. What's up? How are the kiddies, my godchild in particular? How's the weather in New York? Have you ever heard of Shigata Mitsu?” Cole asked, his voice dropping to a low mutter.

“Everything is fine. Kids are fine. Adam's fine. It's raining. My au pair is working out just great. I have time to myself once in a while. That's kind of the reason I'm calling you, Cole. I need some money from that dynasty you control,” Sawyer trilled. “What was that name again?”

Cole's stomach flip-flopped. “How much?” he asked gruffly. “Shigata Mitsu,” he almost snapped.

“A bunch. Listen, I need to talk with you. I've designed this . . . Cole, it will bend . . . it's a plane that will bend the laws of aerodynamics. 1 did it in between changing diapers and wrestling with Adam. Coleman Aviation hasn't got the financing I'm going to need. I need big bucks, little brother.” Her voice was so airy, so confident-sounding, Cole cringed. “Millions. Maybe a hundred million.” His stomach lurched a second time. “Don't you want to know about this splendid plane? Adam is impressed. Riley said, and this is a direct quote, ‘It will put us back in the running when Cole comes through.' End of quote. I guess I overwhelmed you. Listen, I see this as tomorrow's
Top Gun
. I'm talking about super-maneuverability, within seconds. A decisive advantage in air-to-air combat. Vectored thrust engine. Canard wings. You interested, Cole?”

“What do I get out of this?” Cole asked coolly.

“The chance to be my financial backer. It'll fly, Cole. Trust me. It's like we're coming full circle. Just like Grandpa Moss did the first time around. It's our chance to get out from under. Megabucks. Are you in, Cole?” Her voice was fretful-sounding now, Cole thought. She probably hadn't expected any questions, any opposition.

Cole thought about profit margins, his past three years, and his miserable time at the helm of Rising Sun. “Seventy-five percent and twelve percent interest. I could charge fifteen, but since you're family, I'll go with twelve.” This must be what he'd subconsciously been waiting for, a sign from the
other side
, from Shadaharu. Jesus, it was his first goddamn clue. What else could it be? His thoughts grew frenzied. Seventy-five percent and twelve percent interest would put him where he wanted to be, in control, showing a profit. For sure he was a believer now. A niggling voice intruded in his thoughts.
At Sawyer's and the family's expense.
His mind continued to race. Was it too high, too much? Guts, he needed a bushelful now. The numbers were high, but given the vagaries of government contracts, it could also alienate the family, plus . . . plus he could be betting the ranch on a
ghost.
Was he losing his mind? Ah shit! He wished now he hadn't rattled off the numbers at the speed of light. He was about to speak when Sawyer's shrill voice pierced his eardrum.