Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

  He was twelve years old, scared of the big world but scareder still of what staying in that tenant shack would make of him, when he cut and ran with the rags on his back and sixty cents stolen from the cracked milk jug. He poked around some for a year or two, begging and finding odd jobs. But most men took him for older than he was because of his size and the curiously solemn expression in his eyes, and he talked himself into a job in the oil fields. He worked like a slave and was treated like one, but at the end of the first month he had fourteen dollars and eighty-five cents and that was all that mattered. He saved, spending only what was necessary to survive: a warm coat, sturdy boots, and a stupid old mule to carry him about. And at the end of each year the sock in his bedroll bulged fatter and fatter.

  He was twenty when he met Skid Donovan, an old catter with a lease on a pumped-out well but no money. There was still oil in that old hole; Seth could smell it. All around them the black stuff was making men rich. It was a chance, a gamble, and he took it. They became partners.

  Seth worked like a mule and sharpened his business savvy. That other companies wanted to take over Skid’s lease confirmed Seth’s opinion that there was more, oil down there. He had to fight and develop eyes in the back of his head. Luck decided to ride with him and the well proved. But while he did all the work, Skid drank away his half of the profits. After two years Seth had enough and sold the partnership out from under Skid without guilt. Hell, Skid would guzzle himself to death in another six months anyway, so what difference did it make that he’d gotten his signature while the old man was blind with rotgut whiskey? The world was made of survivors....

  The mirror was showing Seth something he didn’t want to see. He was aging just like his father. The grooves and trenches in his face were the same ones he’d despised in the old man. Without a second thought, he raised his booted foot and smashed the pier glass into thousands of sparkling shards.

  He supposed that somewhere down the line he should have sent some money to the old man and those shiftless, sorry creatures who were his brothers. But hell, if they wanted to wallow in poverty, who was he to stop them? Sending. them money would have been like pissing in the ocean. They were all too stupid. He didn’t owe them anything. He couldn’t even remember if the old man had ever called him anything besides “boy.” And when he’d left, he was sure, it had been a relief to his family that there was one less mouth to feed. They hadn’t exactly sent out a search party for him.

  Seth had never wanted Jessica to know the whole truth. Once he’d set his sights on her, he’d wanted nothing to stand in the way of making her his wife. She knew he came from modest beginnings, but he’d never told her how sorry it had all been—it never did for a woman to have something to hold over a man’s head.

  Yes, he’d wanted Jess. Good family, good bloodlines, a little short on money—but that was all right; he was going to have more than enough. Poor Jessica. Pretty as a picture and crazy in love with him. But weak, no grit, no starch, too emotional. He’d been expecting a passel of robust sons and what he’d gotten was a worthless daughter who had made it impossible for Jess to bear more children. Sometimes there was no justice. And of course, she’d given him Moss. For his one magnificent son, Seth did have to thank Jessica. He’d given her an easy life and she had no complaints.

  Agnes Ames, now that was some woman. He admired her rigid posture and her capable hands. A strong woman, damned attractive, too. He wished he could say the same for the pitiful little gal Moss had married. Billie would have to toughen up if she was going to fit into the Coleman family. He hoped he was wrong, but he thought he saw many of Jessica’s weaknesses in the girl. Too thin and narrow-hipped.

  Yes sir, he’d come a long way by the shortest possible route. He made the rules. The legacy he would leave behind to his son and future grandsons had been worth it. His family, his legacy. No guilt, no remorse. When you won, you won all the way.

  Seth Coleman presided over the cherrywood dining table in proper patriarchal form. His thick, freshly combed gray hair brought his healthy tanned features into relief beneath the glow of the Victorian globe chandelier. A russet-brown, western-cut jacket fit snugly about his broad shoulders and he wore a silk waistcoat that belonged to another age. Billie tried to see something of Moss in Seth’s face but could recognize only the summer-blue eyes; they were older and wiser, of course, but they lacked the warmth and humor that were in her husband’s. Those qualities, she decided, he’d inherited from Jessica.

  “What’s for supper?” Seth growled in his peculiarly graveled voice. “I don’t mean to offend you ladies,” he said with a smile toward Agnes, “but I hope to hell we’ve having something a man can sink his teeth into.”

  “Now, Seth, you know what the doctor said about your diet.” Jessica kept her words light but there was a loving chastisement in her tone. “As it happens, tonight we’re having roast beef and potatoes. That should suit any man, Seth, even you.”

  “Damn the doctor. What I’ve been needing is a mess of ribs or maybe some chicken-fried steak. Now that’s man food. Tita! Bring on that beast you’ve roasted and I hope to hell it’s still bloody in the middle. If we’ve got any delicate appetites at this table, they can have the end slices.”

  Billie knew the “delicate appetite” Seth referred to was her own. She determined not to think about the blood-rare beef Seth preferred and hoped her stomach didn’t begin to chum halfway through dinner. Her eyes went across the table to Agnes for encouragement, but her mother was already dipping her spoon into the thick corn soup, another of Seth’s favorites. Billie glanced away from the lump of butter floating on its surface.

  “I took Billie to Moss’s old room today, Seth, and out to the workshop,” Jessica said. She was optimistic; perhaps with more frequent exchanges between Seth and Billie their relationship would improve. Her technique had never helped reconcile Seth and Amelia, but with a father and daughter, emotions always ran too high.

  Billie felt Seth’s eyes on her. “What’d you think gal? Quite a little display, wasn’t it?” Seth always brightened when the subject of Moss came up. “That boy’s got a head on his shoulders. I can remember him taking a jolt or two from an electrical short in those little inventions of his, but that never stopped him from setting out to do what he intended.”

  “What was he trying to do?” Billie asked innocently. “I know he likes to tinker with things, but I didn’t understand any of what I saw in the workshop.”

  Seth’s expression was disdainful. “Of course you wouldn’t. Before that boy was twelve years old he’d redesigned the pump station we use for irrigation,” he said, pointing his fork at her for emphasis, “and it’s still in use today, That boy can do anything he sets his mind to, and don’t think otherwise. Through-and-through Coleman and the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree. He’s got a few things to learn and I’m here to teach him. If this war hadn’t come along, my son never would’ve left Sunbridge—or Texas, either—to find himself a wife. The Colemans, and Jessica’s family, too, for that matter, have been in Texas for damn near a century. Texas born and Texas bred. And that’s the way it’s going to be for Moss’s sons, even if his wife is a Yankee from Pennsylvania.” Seth’s voice was thundering now, and his eyes pierced the distance between Billie and himself, leaving her dumbstruck.

  Jessica’s fingers frayed the edges of her linen napkin. Agnes sat silent and tall, her mouth pinched into a sour line as she stared across at Billie, willing her daughter to stand up to this cantankerous old man before he devoured her. When Billie’s shoulders hunched forward in defeat, Agnes tossed her napkin onto the table like a fighter throwing his hat into the ring—Seth had not only insulted Billie’s heritage but her own as well.

  “The Colemans may have been in Texas for nearly a century, but long before any of them saw their first Indian my family fought in the Revolutionary War!” Agnes bristled. “I’m a member of the DAR, just like my mother before me and her mother before her! And since you’ve openly admitted
that the bloodline has been stagnant for too long, it seems to me Moss showed good sense in looking elsewhere for a wife.”

  The room was still. Even chubby, dark-skinned Tita ceased rattling dishes in the adjoining kitchen. Jessica’s gentle blue eyes went to her husband in a silent plea for domestic peace. Suddenly a great sound filled the room, booming from the rafters. Billie quickly lifted her eyes to see Seth with his head thrown back in laughter, shoulders shaking and belly bouncing. When he’d dried his eyes on the back of his hand, he smiled across at Agnes. “Good for you, Aggie! I guess I’ve been told, haven’t I? Between you and me we’re gonna have ourselves one hell of a grandson!”

  Agnes accepted this as a compliment and retrieved her napkin. “Eat your soup, Seth, while you can still choke it down,” she said, and went back to the business of eating. Jessica and Billie were bewildered, Jess because it was the closest she’d ever heard her husband come to complimenting a woman, Billie because it was the first time she’d known her mother to allow herself to be called Aggie.

  When coffee was served, black and aromatic the way Seth liked it, he made his announcement. “Got an invite in the mail today” was his offhand remark to Jessica as he added a third lump of sugar to his cup. “We’re flying over to Dallas sometime before Thanksgiving; the date’s not set. The Barretts are having a shindig for Lyndon Johnson. A real down-home Texas barbecue. It’s something we should have done, instead of letting the Barretts get the jump on us. Lyndon’s decided he’ll be more useful in the navy than in Washington. Leastwise, that’s what he’s saying. It’s really only because he thinks it’ll add to his political image.”

  “When did Lyndon decide this?” Jessica asked worriedly. “Poor Claudia, she must be beside herself !”

  “Lady Bird will do all right,” Seth said. “She always does all right. Luckiest day of Lyndon’s life was when that woman agreed to marry him; otherwise he’d still be a no ’count teacher in the sticks somewhere. She told him he could do anything and he believed her. When she pointed him in the direction of politics he took to it natural as a newborn calf to its mother’s teat.”

  “Now, Seth, that isn’t saying much for Lyndon, and you know he’s an able man. I’ve heard you say so yourself.”

  “Lots of men are able, Jess, and lots of men never get anywhere. That’s because they’ve hooked up with the wrong woman. We leave Friday, just after lunch.”

  Jessica wrung her hands in her lap, clearly distressed. “Seth, couldn’t I take the train and meet you? You know how I hate to fly.”

  “No, you cannot take the train. Who’d run the house from now till Friday? You’ll fly with me.”

  Jessica paled. “What about Billie and Agnes?”

  “What about them?” Seth dug his fork angrily into his lemon pie.

  “It’s just ... it’s just that I don’t think it’s a good idea for Billie to fly, do you? Considering the baby and the way she’s been feeling? Billie and I could take the train together.”

  Seth swallowed another gulp of scalding coffee. “You ever been up in a plane, gal?” he said to Billie, who shrank back against her seat and nodded, remembering how she’d squeezed her eyes shut the entire time. Just the thought made her feel sick. “Well, Jess might be right. How about you, Aggie? You like to fly?”

  “I love it,” Agnes stated, ignoring Billie’s amazement. “Or at least I know I’d love it. We usually drove to parties in Philadelphia, but I’m willing to try flying. According to Moss, it’s an experience everyone should have.”

  . “Believe him.” Seth laughed. “Of course, I don’t like that stunt-flying Moss is so crazy about. Just a nice safe, level trip. You’d better rest up, gal,” he ordered Billie. “This family has got to be represented at this shindig and you’re going, pukey or not. Lyndon Johnson has done a lot for this family with his connections in Washington, and we’ve got to show our appreciation.” “Billie will be just fine,” Agnes assured him. “Billie, why don’t you play a few piano pieces for us after dinner? You haven’t been at the piano since before we left Philadelphia.” “I didn’t know you played,” Jessica interjected. “How nice it will be to hear that old piano again. Amelia had quite a bit of talent. Remember how Amelia used to play for our friends, Seth?”

  When there was no answer, Jessica hastily went on to recall for Agnes and Billie some of the big parties that had been held at Sunbridge. But Agnes’s attention was on Seth, who leaned back in his chair and lighted a thick brown cigar. She’d noticed that whenever Amelia’s name was mentioned he withdrew from the conversation. Evidently, he didn’t share Jessica’s fondness for their daughter. Billie’s child, she thought with satisfaction, would always hold a position of importance in the Coleman household, and without competition from Amelia or any of her future progeny.

  Seth settled himself into a worn leather wing chair in the living room and frowned at his wife, who was busily uncovering the baby grand piano that stood in the bay of long-curtained windows. It wasn’t until Agnes brought him a large snifter of cognac that his expression brightened.

  “It’s probably terribly out of tune,” Jessica apologized. “I don’t remember the last time it was played.” Billie tried a few scales. The tone was acceptable but the instrument did need attention. Soon she broke into the beginning strains of Dvorak’s “Humoresque,” playing softly and haltingly at first until her fingers remembered their stretch and reach. Measure by measure her volume increased and the music filled the high-vaulted room with the lilting quality of her interpretation.

  Jessica was impressed, smiling over at Agnes with pleased astonishment. “I never knew Billie was so accomplished,” she whispered. She glanced over at Seth, who was clearly unmoved by his daughter-in-law’s performance. Talent, unless it would enhance the power and property of Sunbridge, was unappreciated. When Billie broke into the waltz from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, Seth was heard to growl, “Doesn’t that gal know any saloon music? Some good old ricky-ticky tunes.” Then, louder: “How about ‘Red River Valley’ or ‘My Darlin’ Clementine’? Why do women always like funeral marches?”

  Jessica was embarrassed, Agnes annoyed. But Billie heard and immediately switched to a bouncing rendition of “Red River Valley,” which brought a grudging smile of pleasure to Seth’s face. He wanted saloon music, she’d give him saloon music—“Clementine,” “The Cowboy’s Lament,” “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” Soon Seth’s feet were tapping with the rhythms and he was clapping his hands. Now Agnes’s expression was bored, Jessica’s hopeful. In time, she thought, and the Lord willing, Seth just might come to appreciate this new daughter of theirs.

  It was then that the phone rang. After the third ring Tita picked up the receiver in the hall and quickly came to announce long distance, San Diego. “It’s Señor Moss!”

  Billie’s hands froze in midair and she leaped to her feet. But she was no quicker than Seth, who struggled from his chair and then had to lean on his cane for balance. For one moment their eyes locked, and Billie was the first to look away. Seth would speak to his son before she could speak to her husband.

  Agnes and Jessica followed Seth and Billie out to the hall, gathering close. “That you, son?” Seth barked into the receiver. “’Bout time we heard from you! Still in San Diego?”

  “How you doing, Pap? Are you treating my girl right? Not pulling any of your tricks, are you, Pap?”

  Seth’s answer was a noncommittal growl. “When the hell are you coming home? Have you gotten those ideas about war and glory out of your thick head yet?”

  “I’m calling to say I’m leaving for Hawaii at oh three hundred tomorrow, California time.”

  “Why the hell you want to go all the way over there? If you’re fighting for this country, then that’s where you should stay, right here in the States! You’ve got a wife here and a son on the way. This is where you should be. I can still fix it, you know. Why don’t you let me?”

  “Pap, this is what I want. I’m being assigned to the USS Enterprise. You ta
ke care of Billie and the baby for me. I’m counting on you. Where is Billie?”

  “Right here. Listen, son, there’s something I want to ask you. Remember that well we pulled in out over to Waco? They’re telling me she’s going dry and we should pull out before we lose money on her. My gut tells me there’s still a lode down there and we just haven’t tapped it. Christ, the whole area is pulling in oil and I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t. What do you think about drilling another well along the same ridge? You were out there before you got that fool notion to enlist in the navy—what d’you think?”

  Billie hovered near, with clenched fists, straining to hear the sound of Moss’s voice. Frustration screamed through her. Why was Seth talking about oil wells and money. She thought she’d faint if she didn’t speak to Moss this instant! She looked at Jessica, who signaled to her to be patient.

  “That’s not what those smart-assed geologists have been telling me,” Seth complained. “They’re’saying those pumps south of ours are pulling and we’re bottoming out. A slant rig, you say? Do you know where it’s been tried? ... Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s a wildcatter out of Oklahoma, isn’t he?” Another pause. “Hell, son, why don’t you come on home? Turn in that leather jacket and come be where you’ll do the most good. Those planes don’t run on water, you know. This country needs all the fuel oil it can get.”

  Seth listened, the lines in his face deepening with discouragement. “Yes, your mother’s right here and so’s Aggie.... Yes, she’s here, too.” Without another word, Seth handed the phone to Jessica, who kept her loving remarks brief before turning the phone over to Billie..