Texas fury

by Michaels, Fern

  "It's tough running Coleman Aviation from a foreign country, Grand. I wish I could get back more often. I'm seriously thinking about hiring a couple of assistants. So far, the thing that's held me back is the language barrier. I can speak pidgin Japanese, but that's about it. They're such good workers, Grand, they put me to shame, and you know I'm no slouch. And look, let's not get into the oil thing this afternoon, okay?" Sawyer added a bit of nonchalance to her next question. "Has anyone heard from Adam Jarvis?"

  Thad smiled. "I saw him in Washington a couple of months ago. He asked about you."

  "He did, huh? He never writes. We've lost touch. I heard about his wife and I wanted to ... I didn't think I should."

  "You should have—Adam is a good friend," her grandmother admonished. "I'm surprised, Sawyer; that's not like you."

  "I know it isn't. To tell you the truth, I wanted to take the next plane home. I had to fight with myself. It's one of those things, Grand, where he has to make the first move. I know I let it hang there, but after my surgery and recovery I couldn't bind him to me in any way. We both knew that. Adam chose to go a different route, and I was happy for him. Sad at my loss, but as long as he was happy, that's all that mattered. You see, Grand, I learned how to put other people first, just the way you taught me."

  "I shouldn't be carrying tales," Thad said, "but then, Adam didn't swear me to secrecy. He told me his marriage was one of convenience more than anything else. He has a stepson, you know. A troubled boy, from what he told me."

  "I believe, and I have always believed, that Adam loves you," Billie said gently. "I think the two of you have to sit down tnd have a long talk before one of you does something that ca i't be corrected."

  "I'm going to work on it, Grand," Sawyer said, just as gently.

  Billie noticed that Sawyer's eyes kept sweeping the room,

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  always coming to rest on Riley and Shadaharu Hasegawa.

  4 i wish there was something I could do," Sawyer said, knowing her grandmother would understand what she was referring to.

  "I can feel Riley's torment, and I know just how Mr. Hasegawa feels. If they can meet at some point, things might be all right." Billie's eyes brimmed with tears. Thad reached out to clasp her hand in his. He, too, understood.

  "Don't count on it, Grand," said Sawyer. "Riley wants it all. Mr. Hasegawa wants all of Riley. Culture, honor, duty— an awesome threesome, if you follow me. Riley is in an awful position, or as Cole would say, between a rock and a hard place. I honestly don't know what he'll do. I lie awake nights worrying about him, and when I try to talk to him, he says he's working on it. I feel we should be doing something, at least talking to him."

  "No, that's the worst thing we can do," Thad interjected. "When and if he needs our help, he knows we're here for him. Riley has to work this out himself."

  "Thad, darling, perhaps you could talk to Mr. Hasegawa. Tell him of Riley's torment. He'll listen to you. You've been friends for so many years."

  "Darling Billie, I would cut off my arm for you, but in this instance I cannot, I will not, interfere. And for the very reason you just mentioned. We have been friends for many years, and Shadaharu himself was the one who drew up the boundaries that were not to be crossed. I've always respected them, as he has."

  "I know, I know. I'm grasping at straws. I still can't believe he traveled all this way in his condition. He's not mentioned his illness once. I couldn't say anything, unless he did. I feel so helpless."

  "Welcome to the club," Sawyer said wryly. "I don't know about you two, but I think I'm going to take a nice warm shower and a nap. I understand we're all going to dance the night away, and I want to be prepared."

  "I think you're right, darling," Billie said, getting to her feet. "The part about the shower and the nap. I'm not sure I can dance the night away. What's your feeling on that, Senator Kingsley?" she asked playfully.

  Thad laughed. "It's my feeling—and mind you, it's just my feeling—that those of us who can dance the night away will, and those of us who can't, won't."

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  "And he's off the hook again," Billie said. "Spoken like a true politician."

  As the room emptied, Cole shifted from one foot to the other. Riley's slight nod told him he, too, could go upstairs. He touched the old Japanese on the shoulder and poked Riley playfully. "Five-thirty in the central hallway, Coleman."

  "We'll be there," Riley said lightly.

  In the quiet of the room, with only the logs crackling in the fireplace, young eyes stared deeply into old eyes. No words were spoken. Riley lowered his head first, in deference to his grandfather. He let go of the thin, veined hands he'd been holding. He got up from the ottoman and jammed his own hands into his pockets to stop their trembling.

  The old man leaned back and stared up at his grandson. He was so American. Even his height. By Japanese standards, six feet three inches was of monster proportions. He would have to listen to his grandson's tortured words. He thought he knew what Riley was going to say, and he dreaded hearing it. He waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts. Nothing in his long life had prepared him for this moment. How was it possible, he asked himself, to love one person so much, to the exclusion of all else? He could feel his own hands start to tremble. He knotted them together and was rewarded with pain.

  "I love this place," Riley said, waving his arms about. "Leaving all of it would be like tearing my insides out. I sleep in my father's bed in the room that belonged to him. My baseball cap that was my father's hangs on his peg on the hat rack in the hall. Aunt Maggie turned over half of Sunbridge to me because it was meant for my father. Grandma Billie turned over the oil and cattle end of the business to me to run. You sent me here. You saved this family in its darkest hour!" Riley cried passionately.

  To visit, the old Japanese wanted to shout, not to stay. Yes, I helped save this family because of a man's dream, and you were part of that dream. He could say none of those things, even in a whisper. The boy hadn't said he wouldn't return, only that leaving would be like tearing out his insides.

  The old man's eyes were heavy and his stomach pained him. At the moment hope and anticipation were exhausting emotions.

  "I have not forgotten my old life, Grandfather. I think of it every day. I compare my life here and my life as I remember it

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  in Japan. I know you feel I am dishonoring our family, and I feel shame with my inability to. .. Cole should be your grandson, not me. Cole would be everything you want and what I can't be. Why. . . why did this have to happen? My mother would have understood; why can't you?" Riley cried in a torn voice.

  The anguish in his grandson's voice ripped at the old man's heart. "Coleman Tanner is not of my blood. You are," Shada-haru Hasegawa said softly.

  "Then you should understand why I want to remain here. My blood is here, too. I'm one of the Colemans. I belong. I'm one of them. I don't want you to ask me to give this up. Please, Grandfather, don't ask that of me." Desperately he threw Cole's name into the exchange a second time. Later he realized it was to get himself off the hook. "It isn't fair. Cole doesn't want all of this. I do. Cole won't leave because he . .. He doesn't want to belong. . .. Forget it, Grandfather. I see that you're tired and ..."

  "It has been a long day, my grandson. Please, help this old man up the stairs so that I can sleep before this evening's events. By help, Riley, I mean that you will walk behind me." The old man swallowed hard. If he pretended not to hear the words, they wouldn't eat away at him like the disease in his body.

  "Yes, Grandfather," Riley said respectfully. This way you will not see my tears, nor I yours.

  The second level of Sunbridge was quiet. Riley paced the floor with frenzied steps, smacking one balled fist into the other. It wasn't fair. For years Sawyer had drummed into his head that life wasn't fair and no one had a right to expect it to be. Sawyer herself was a perfect example of an unfair life. She'd loved Rand Nelson and had to give him up when he fell in love with h
er mother, Maggie. She'd survived. She'd survived the brain tumor, too, and Adam Jarvis's marriage. Grandmam Billie had survived the death of her husband and married Thad. His own mother had died at the hands of a drunken driver. That hadn't been fair, but he and his grandfather had survived. Aunt Amelia had survived bypass surgery and a host of other terrible events. Cole. Cole was different. Cole had his troubles, but he always managed to come out on top Aunt Maggie was perhaps the most beleaguered and traumatized of all the Colemans, and yet today she was getting

  {36}

  ready to fill her mother's shoes as head of the family. They were all survivors. Why should he be any different? The same blood ran in his veins. He dropped his head into his hands. It wasn't going to be enough to win the battle. He had to win the war as well and not come out a casualty. He had to believe he would be a survivor, like the rest of the family.

  The bed that he thought of not as his own, but as his father's, welcomed him. He rolled over on his side and was asleep almost instantly, his sleep tortured by a parade of tiny Japanese girls following him up the hill to the cherry blossom grove. He was playing a haunting melody, a favorite of his mother's, on a flute that was a gift from his grandfather. Cries and pleas for help from the edge of the clearing were drowned out by his music and the voices of the little girls. The children pointed, their voices raised in excitement, to the edge of the grove, where the family, one by one, slipped off the embankment. "You're the only one left," the little girls shouted. "The only one!" Then they laughed, high, shrieking sounds. He stopped playing the flute long enough to hear the first little girl say he was their savior. Japanese people didn't say such things. A savior. A word from his own Catholic faith. He woke drenched in sweat and with a pounding headache.

  Standing under a pelting shower, he decided that if he did nothing, then nothing would happen. Don't commit, don't make a decision. Look to the future, not the past. For now, it was the best advice he could give himself.

  UUiiiii CHAPTER TWO )}»)»»

  It was one of Texas's finest hours.

  Miranda was getting a salute that only Texans could give. The city might have been built by Cary Assante, but it was the Coleman family whom the crowds came to see and pay tribute to.

  Amelia's dedication of the Jessica Coleman Library was private. The family had voted unanimously to keep it small and personal, and the crowds and press respected their wishes.

  It was snowing lightly when the family made its way from

  {37}

  the library to the grand ballroom in Assante Towers.

  "This is the part I always hate," Billie muttered. "Being on display."

  "Smile, darling, this is for Cary and Amelia," Thad said, looking around at the crowd. "Lord, all of Texas must be here."

  "And all the other forty-nine states," Billie giggled. "Half the Senate is here—who do you think is minding the store? I've seen at least twenty Congressmen. I expected the governor and the lieutenant governor, but this ... this turnout is like a Capitol Hill funeral without the body. If you tell me the president is here, I'll die."

  "Not the president, but the second in command," Thad said. "And I had nothing to do with it," he added.

  "Mam, I'm stunned!" Maggie gasped. "Who did all this? I just saw Henry Kissinger, and if I'm not mistaken, he was talking to Ted Koppel."

  Billie's eyes widened. "Ted Koppel! Thad, is that true? Where is he?"

  "Down, girl." Thad laughed. "Maggie, to answer your question, Cary hired publicity people, and Amelia sent out invitations to the governor asking him to invite anyone he wanted. They're old friends, as you know. That accounts for the governors on parade. I guess the Senate and House can be laid on my doorstep. I invited them all, but I didn't think they'd show up. I'm happy they did, but I didn't expect—"

  "Thad, this is the first time I've ever seen you at a loss for words," Maggie said. Thad grinned sheepishly.

  "Sawyer told me the Beach Boys are playing, and Cole said Elton John and John Denver are singing. They must have been putting me on. They love to see me get excited and then prick my balloon," Maggie cried happily.

  "We'll know soon enough, once everyone gets inside."

  "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to stand here and gawk," Sawyer stage-whispered behind her hand.

  "Me, too," Maggie whispered back. "You-all go inside, and Sawyer and I will report back later. In detail."

  Billie's eyes warmed. How happy she was that Maggie and Sawyer were at last not only mother and daughter but friends as well.

  "There are more Rolls-Royces, Ferraris, and Jags in the parking lot than in Saudi Arabia," Cole whispered in his

  {38}

  mother's ear. "And I saw two sheiks talking to Mr. Hasegawa. Old friends, I believe."

  "You look handsome, Cole. Run along now and join the penguin brigade. I appreciate the effort you put into that dinner jacket."

  "For you, Mother, anything."

  Maggie smiled. She knew he meant every word. It hadn't always been like that. There'd been some rough times, but they were mother and son now, just as she and Sawyer were mother and daughter. How blessed she was.

  "This is better than an Academy Awards celebration," Sawyer giggled. "There're movie stars all over the place. I feel like I'm sixteen."

  "I feel like I'm nineteen—I have to be older." Maggie laughed.

  Mother and daughter stood off to the side, admiring the latest fashions as a parade of glamorous women swept through the wide central doors.

  "This ballroom is at least three city blocks wide and long —what do you think, Mam?" Sawyer asked.

  "It sounds right to me." Maggie's face turned suddenly serious. "How bad is the oil business, Sawyer? Are you in love with Adam Jarvis?" Nothing like blurting it all out at once, she thought.

  "Now, where in the hell did that come from? It's bad, but we have a couple of options. And yes, I'm still in love with Adam. Look at that Fisher mink! Jeez, it's Tess Buckalew!"

  "My lord! Lacey's wearing one, too. I thought you said the oil business was bad."

  "Ivy looks like a poor relation," Sawyer announced. "I always liked that kid. She's got more on the ball than all the Buckalews put together. Coots looks rather dashing, don't you agree? My goodness, Mitzi Fanny is wearing a Russian sable. Bill looks elegant."

  Maggie agreed. "I've seen enough," she said. "Let's go inside and gawk at the gowns and jewels."

  Sawyer and Maggie made their way to the family table.

  "Mam," Maggie whispered to Billie, "you won't believe —just look around. Galanos, Adolfo, and every major designer in the fashion industry. And Van Cleef, Tiffany, and Cartier! And we're all wearing Billie originals. I haven't seen one other Billie outfit. Too expensive, I guess."

  "I don't know if that makes me happy or not," Billie said.

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  "Be delirious, Mam," Maggie said. "We're unique."

  "You wouldn't believe how long and hard I worked on your dress, Maggie. I couldn't get the right shade of tangerine to save my life. I wanted it just right for your hair and coloring. You are satisfied, aren't you, honey?"

  "Mam, it's perfect. The Popsicle colors in Sawyer's dress amaze me. You have your Blink Pink in there, I see."

  "It's my trademark now. You both look lovely. Professional models couldn't show off the dresses better than you two."

  The crowds swelled till there was barely inching-around room in any direction. Sawyer craned her neck to see the banquet tables; she was hungry.

  The grand ballroom was the size of a football field, and thanks to Cary Assante's efforts, it had been turned into a magical fairyland for the night's festivities.

  Five-star chefs dressed in crisp white smocks and crisper starched hats stood behind their culinary masterpieces. The tables were forty feet long and draped in shimmering silver with garlands of red satin ribbon stretching from one end to the other. A three-foot-high ice sculpture—models of Assante Towers—rose up from the center of each table. The crys
tal chandeliers overhead shone down on the sculptures, bathing them in a red and silver glow, and winked down on the sterling silver serving dishes that held lobster, shrimp, filet mi-gnon, duckling, pheasant under glass, and fresh mushrooms from Japan. Baccarat crystal dishes held colorful vegetables decorated with sprigs of holly and feathery greenery. Cheeses flown in specially from Wisconsin sat on wheels of silver next to platters of beluga caviar. Dom Perignon trickled from hidden spouts in the ice sculptures. "Vintage fifty-nine," one of the chefs whispered to the governor as he waited for his glass to fill.

  Waitresses wearing short scarlet swirling skirts trimmed in white fur, like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, walked through the crowds carrying silver trays with crystal glasses of champagne. In their wake, waiters who could have doubled for the famous Chippendales, wearing skintight scarlet trousers and silver waistcoats, moved through the huge room on light feet, their upraised hands carrying trays of caviar and shrimp.

  Before Sawyer asked her brother Cole to sweep her out onto the dance floor, she let her eyes travel once more around the room so she would never forget the most splendiferous

  {40}

  sight she'd ever seen. She blinked and shook her head in awe as her eyes went to the four corners of the room, banked with tier after tier of poinsettias. She smiled at the revolving bandstand. Every inch of space that wasn't occupied by the orchestras was covered, with the brilliant red Christmas flowers. "Someday," she muttered to Cole, "I hope someone tells me how much this cost and how much the IRS absorbed. Come on, twinkle-toes, let's cut it!"

  Cole smiled woodenly at Sawyer and dragged deeply on his cigarette. He rarely smoked, and when he did, it was out of nervousness or anger. He must be nervous, because he didn't feel angry. This was a hell of a place to soul-search.

  He looked around the table at his family. He'd go to the wall for any one of them. He belonged; he was one of them; for now. He wondered, as he had many times before, what would happen if he simply picked up and left. The thought made his heart pound. When and if he decided to leave, the only person who would truly understand would be Riley. And possibly his grandmother Billie. She always said, don't marry the Coleman business, make a life for yourself outside the family. How in the living hell was he ever going to do that?