Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As Billie parked her little Italian sports car in the studio lot she could feel the tension in her shoulders. The scene with Maggie this morning had been a replay of many before, but she was still shaken. She had had to face the realization, one more time, of her ineffectiveness as a parent to her daughter. Maggie needed Moss. They all needed Moss. But only Riley, bless his heart, could claim the prize of his father’s attention.

  Crossing the small dusty lot, Billie could already smell the turpentine and oil paints wafting through the open door. She loved coming here, facing the challenge of an empty canvas. Here among the paints and the easy camaraderie of the other students she could forget Sunbridge and her troubled marriage and family. Two hundred and fifty thousand acres and a twenty-room house, and she had to come here to find privacy and comfort.

  .The studio itself consisted of one large room with two skylights, a northern and southern. It was comfortable and it was beautiful, with canvases lined up against one long wall. Brilliant colors lived in this room. Comforting colors, exciting colors, somber colors, even dreary colors. The splendor of life, Billie thought as she hung up her short jacket and took her place. Today, only two other students were working. A third figure looked up at her approach and smiled, a great heartwarming smile whose intimacy seemed to encircle her. Jordan. Jordan Marsh was her teacher and her friend, tall and thin, with sandy hair—more brown than sand, really, with streaks of gray at the temples. When he smiled—and he was smiling now—he was almost handsome, showing off perfect teeth. She felt some of the tension leave her as she returned his smile. At least someone was glad to see her.

  More tension dropped from her as she set about mixing pigments. Today she was going to finish a still life she had started earlier in the week. A single daisy in a small vase that resembled a child’s pudgy hand. Riley’s hand.

  An hour into her work, Jordan came to stand behind her, watching her bold, sure strokes. “What’s wrong, Billie?” he asked softly.

  Billie turned on her stool and looked up at him. It had been so long since anyone had used that soft tone with her. She couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had asked if she was all right. Asked as though they cared. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I’m not sure, Jordan. Probably everything.” “Can I help? Do you want to talk? There’s no point in continuing with this. Your colors are all wrong. The stem on that daisy looks like a dead snake.”

  “You’re right, Jordan. I shouldn’t be working today. I could use a cup of coffee, if you have one.”

  “I have a whole pot. Made it right before you arrived. Come on, let’s go back to my apartment. We can talk in private.”

  Billie had only been in Jordan’s apartment once before, when he’d held a surprise luncheon to celebrate a private showing of his work. It was so nice, so private, and the best thing was he could simply walk into his studio at any time of the day or night, whenever he felt like working. He didn’t have to go off somewhere like she did.

  Jordan took her on a brief tour of his quarters. The rooms reflected his personality. Bold and bright living room, kitchen alive with hand-painted designs on all the cabinet doors. Natural hopsacking hung at the windows and were tied back with vivid scarlet sashing. It was just enough. The assortment of green plants and copper utensils completed the comforting, inviting atmosphere.

  But it was the bedroom that Billie liked best. Jordan had done it all in earth tones. It was probably the most restful room she had ever seen. She wondered what it would be like to make love in that comfortable room . . . and promptly flushed.

  “Hold that wicked thought, whatever it is!” Jordan said, smiling. Billie laughed, but the crimson stain stayed as they went back to the kitchen and talked over steaming cups filled to the brim with Louisiana coffee.

  They chatted about an upcoming show for one of the other students. Then Jordan asked, “Now tell me, beautiful lady, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m sure I’m making more out of all of this than is necessary. I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” said Billie. “My father-in-law hosted a birthday party for me last night. It didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. I was disappointed, Jordan. The reasons aren’t important.”

  “Yes, they are, Billie. They’re important to you. Talking about it will bring it into perspective. Look at me, Billie. Where would I be today if I hadn’t had someone to talk to, to help me when the bottle was killing me? I’d be in the gutter somewhere, trying to panhandle more money to buy more cheap wine. Someone cared enough to help me. Open up, girl. Share your problems. I know I don’t come from your social circle, but I’ve knocked around, seen life, and I care enough to help you.”

  “What you are or where you came from has nothing to do with it, Jordan. I find it difficult to even admit there is a problem. Coleman’s don’t have problems. We aren’t permitted. So we tend to ignore unpleasant things. We know that sooner or later they will go away.” She took a deep breath. “But this is not going to go away.”

  Jordan was persistent. “Billie, you have to tell me what you’re talking about—what isn’t going to go away? Friends help one another. Don’t shut me out now.”

  “I can’t unload my problems on you just because I’m not strong enough to handle them.”

  “Have you tried? Or have you been coasting?”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” Billie said miserably. “I failed all the way down the line. I don’t know where or how things went wrong. I can’t give you a date or a time. Things more or less crept up on me. I feel as though there’s a black cloud hovering over me and every day it gets lower and lower.” Billie shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. “I think I might just be feeling sorry for myself,” she said with forced cheerfulness.

  “I don’t believe you think that at all. You’d never’ve come back to my apartment if you weren’t upset. How many times have I asked you back here? At least a hundred. You would never come, because it wasn’t proper for a married lady to enter a man’s apartment.”

  Billie laughed. He was so good for her. If she could still laugh, there must be hope.

  Jordan leaned back on the wooden kitchen chair and watched Billie carefully. Didn’t she know how he ached to fold her into his arms? Couldn’t she feel the heat that emanated from him at the mere sight of her? Was he forever to be her teacher and no more?

  “I don’t think you can help me,” she said, “but if you want to listen, I would like to talk.”

  Jordan rummaged in his smock pocket for his pipe—which he never smoked—and stuck it between his teeth. He nodded. He was ready to listen. Billie laughed again. “Someday you aren’t going to be able to find that pipe and then where will you be?”

  “Up the creek without a paddle.” Jordan grinned. “It helps me concentrate. My security blanket, if you will. We all need one, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. I don’t think I ever had something like that to comfort me. That is what you’re talking about, isn’t it, comfort?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Start, Billie.”

  It poured out. Like a waterfall. Jordan sat without moving, the pipe clenched between his teeth. He made no sudden moves, not wanting to break or disrupt Billie’s flow. He didn’t even nod.

  And then she wound down, slowly, like a locomotive running out of steam. The flush was back on her cheeks. She had opened up, talked about things she hadn’t known she remembered. . . . She didn’t know if she felt better or worse.

  Finally Jordan spoke. “That’s a mighty heavy load you’ve been carrying around for years. But don’t you feel a certain amount of relief now that you’ve opened up?”

  Billie pondered. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I do. But I still don’t have the answers. What do you think, Jordan?”

  “I think you have problems that only you can solve. I can’t tell you what to do, Billie. You have to come to terms with things, make decisions and stick to them. You can’t permit other people to control your lif
e. Both of us know that.

  “I will tell you one thing—and it’s something I learned from experience, so I can share it with you. My problem was alcohol. It was destroying me. I had a love and it was, and is, art. I had to decide which was more important to me. There are days when I want a drink so bad I think I could kill for it. Then I look at one of my students and I know I can’t even touch that bottle again. I was put on this earth for a reason. It’s corny, but . . . Billie, I love you, you know.”

  “I rather thought you did.” Billie smiled. Jordan looked a little surprised, and happy.

  “Did it help to talk?” he said.

  “I think so. I have a lot of thinking to do. I have to do something about Maggie before it’s too late.”

  “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be better to get to the root of things and work from there? I’m not saying Maggie isn’t important, but until you resolve other things, I don’t see how you can do much for her. And she’ll recognize the desperation, anyway.”

  “I’m a coward, Jordan.”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  “I could botch it all up.”

  “Then you’ll have to live with that. But what’s better, trying or doing nothing?”

  “I have to think.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I have strange feelings where you’re concerned.” She was amazed at her calm, the feeling of easy candor she had with him.

  “I rather thought you did.” Jordan grinned.

  “Time.”

  “Yes.”

  “The coffee was great. The talk was even better. I enjoyed sitting back here with you, but I think I should be out there painting. This might be a good time to work on my angry seascape.”

  “I’d say this is a perfect time.”

  “Time, Jordan. Give me time.”

  “All the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”

  On the return ride to Sunbridge Billie could feel her cheeks grow warm as she thought about her conversation. She’d handled his confession very well. Jordan was in love with her. Was that the same as loving? Still, it pleased her to know that an attractive, talented man like Jordan could feel something about her. Her self-esteem was pretty well trampled these days.

  An affair with Jordan. It was something to think about. She wondered what it would be like to make love with him in his beautiful bedroom. Jordan was nothing like Moss. Jordan the man, the artist. Jordan the lover. And when it was over, because affairs were always over at some point, what would be left? Bitterness? Disappointment? Were the ashes of an affair as cold and hostile as the ashes of a neglected marriage?

  As the miles spun on beneath the wheels of her car so did her thoughts. Before she reached home she knew without doubt that a woman didn’t just fall into a man’s arms, innocent and unaware. Not a married woman. It was a deliberate act, with eyes open, admissions made. Billie faced the fact that she needed a man to want her. She needed to be held, to hear the soft, wonderful promises of early love. She hungered for a kind word, a loving hand. But she also knew that in the end, she would be the one to break it off. Never again would she give herself as completely to a man as she had to Moss.

  Billie parked her soldier-blue car beside Moss’s racy Porsche. He was home. Before she made the decision to allow herself to fall into Jordan’s arms, she’d try once more to talk to Moss. To get closer to him, to look for that little glimmer that would let her know he still wanted her and their marriage. Her steps faltered. It was really Moss she wanted; it was Moss she would always want. She still loved him beyond reason. How much of herself did that leave for Jordan? Would she lie in his arms and pretend he was Moss? Her heels tapped across the tiles in the front hall. Suddenly she wanted to see Moss, have him smile at her. After all these years, how could he still have this effect on her? Still make her pulses race and her arms ache to hold him? She must be a fool.

  “Make me a gin and tonic, please, Charlotte, and bring it out on the terrace,” Billie murmured distractedly. She wanted a little more time to think before approaching Moss. Get her lines down.

  She had first discovered his unfaithfulness years before, but the pain was as fresh as if it had been yesterday. She’d been so wounded, so humiliated, she’d wanted to die. What was she lacking that had made him look elsewhere? The anger, when it came, had been brutal, eating at her like a cancer. She’d never really recovered.

  It had been her decision, made in the solitary darkness of her bedroom, not to confront Moss. His infidelity was a passing thing, she promised herself. He would come back to her and their marriage would be as strong as ever. Sometimes affairs strengthened marriages. She would forgive . . . but she would never forget. That would be her punishment; she had to be at fault somewhere.

  After the first time, Billie was aware of every one of her husband’s indiscretions. Each time, he would return to her, as loving and kind as in the early days of their marriage. He would bring her expensive gifts, share her bed three times a week, whisper beautiful words in her ear. She endured because she loved her husband.

  The gin and tonic was finished, and Billie set the glass down firmly. It was time to seek out her husband. She shoved trembling hands into the pockets of her jacket. It was all so ridiculous she wanted to cry.

  “Main? Look, Pap, Mam is here!” Riley exclaimed.

  “Billie, what brings you down here? Is something wrong?” Moss asked.

  “What could possibly be wrong in this paradise called Sunbridge?” Billie responded with forced cheerfulness. “Riley, I want to talk to your father for a few minutes. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and ask Charlotte to make us some coffee.”

  Billie was alone with Moss. She looked at him through what she hoped were objective eyes. Still tall and rangy, more rugged-looking now, still so damned handsome. Hair thick, dark, a frosting of silver at the temples, and those blue eyes that could reach into her heart. But most remarkable about her husband was the power he exuded. Little wonder women found him so attractive. Even in this little room, amid a mess of papers and school pennants and trophies that he’d never removed, Moss was a powerful man. It was in the set of his shoulders beneath his finely knit sweater, in the tone of his voice and the light in his eyes.

  She took a breath, knowing she must speak now before the moment and the will were gone. “Moss, what did you think of the party last night?”

  “It was nice. Did you enjoy yourself? Pap went all out for you. I hope you thanked the old boy.”

  “Yes, it was nice. And yes, I thanked Seth. But it would’ve been nicer if you’d spent some time with me. After all, it was my birthday.”

  “Are you complaining?” Moss asked coolly, turning to face her.

  “No—Yes, yes I am. I was embarrassed and I could see people were whispering. Why were they whispering, Moss?”

  “How the hell should I know, Billie? You know I’ve never been much good at playing the attentive husband. I just don’t know how.”

  “Perhaps you don’t, but you’re not stupid. I asked you why people were whispering.”

  “You’re just imagining things.” He turned back to his desk. At this point in any other conversation with him, Billie would have considered herself dismissed. Not this time.

  “I asked you a question, Moss.”

  Moss’s hairs prickled on the back of his neck. There was something going on here. This interrogation was unlike Billie. He turned to face her once again, all his attention focused on her now. The light from the window behind him fell on her face, making it golden and radiant, illuminating her hair and the clear sweep of her brow. She was beautiful, this wife of his, his Billie. She was also upset.

  Warmth crept up from her neck to bloom on her cheeks. “I waited for you, Moss,” she whispered. “I waited all night. I wanted you. Something’s wrong, Moss. We seem to be losing each other and I don’t know why and it frightens me.”

  Billie heard herself choke. Lord, she hadn’t meant it to sound as though she were begging. But wasn’t
that exactly what she was doing? Begging Moss to save her from falling into Jordan Marsh’s arms?

  “Billie, we’re old married folks now. The honeymoon doesn’t last forever. We’re settled in. You know, old shoes.”

  “Moss, I don’t want an old shoe. I didn’t ever want to lose what we had. It’s like dying. When was the last time you came to the room we used to share? Do you even remember? We need to talk, to communicate. We have children who need us, together. We were happy once. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what I’ve done that you don’t want me anymore.”

  She hadn’t wanted it to pour out like this; she hadn’t wanted to sound so lost, so desperate. Yet it had to be said and now was the time. Perhaps he didn’t know how he’d hurt her.

  “Billie, what’s all this talk about communicating? You sound like one of those beatniks.”

  “And you sound like a man with something to hide. Is there someone else, Moss? Do you love her?”

  “You’re never here, Billie. You’re always busy with your classes, the children, or whatever it is you women do. I have pressures, commitments. The ranch, the business. They’re all taking their toll. Do you see this mess here?” he said, indicating the shelves and desk filled to overflowing with ledgers, charts, and blueprints. “I’m only one man. Pap is depending on me.”

  “I understand all that, but you could get someone to help you. Yes, I’ve been busy. It’s the only way I can get through the days. What about the nights, Moss? I’m not busy at night, but you are. You haven’t answered my question. Have you found someone else? If you have, tell me. We have to talk.”

  “We are talking. You just don’t like what I’m saying.” She knew. Christ, she knew and she had never said a word. That was like Billie. Ignore it and it would go away. He wondered if Agnes knew. “No, I haven’t found anyone else. We’re married, Billie. We’ll always be married. You should know that. We have a commitment.”

  “If that’s true, why don’t we make love? You’re a very virile man. We last made love two months ago and I had to hogtie you even then. I don’t like this position you’ve placed me in. I don’t like it at all.” Some of the resolve had come back into Billie’s voice. She spoke more firmly. “The fact that you aren’t interested in making love with me can only mean one thing. You’re involved somewhere else. We should be adult enough to discuss it.”