Texas Heat

by Fern Michaels

  “Susan has always been a disciplined person,” Billie said. “I quite admire you, darling. And as for your figure, you have nothing to worry about. Whatever do you do when you want to binge? What’s your secret?”

  “I look at Jerome, Mam,” Susan said coolly. An uneasy silence shrouded the table.

  “I think you need a good, long rest, Susan,” said Amelia. “You’re looking a bit peaked,” she added bluntly.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Susan,” Jerome said sharply. “It was the trip, coming off the tour and getting ready for the next one. Susan is fine.”

  Thad whispered to Billie, “Methinks he doth protest too much. Follow your instincts, darling. She’s your daughter.”

  “I’ll talk with her later, Thad. She looks miserable enough now; I don’t want to add to it.”

  There was a lump growing in Susan’s throat. All her family was here, and if there was ever a time to make an announcement, this was it. Damn Jerome and his career. Damn the tour and damn the critics. First she looked at Amelia, and then at Billie, who nodded slightly to show she understood. Susan had something to say, and this was as good a time as any to say it.

  The knife was in Susan’s hand before she could think, and she was tapping lightly on her water glass. “Listen, everybody, I have an announcement.” She carefully avoided looking at her husband.

  “Susan! We’ve discussed this,” Jerome hissed at her across the table. “Not now, for God’s sake!”

  “Now!” she said. “Everybody...” She took a deep breath. “Everybody, I’m pregnant! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Maggie was off her chair and took her sister into her embrace. “Suse! How wonderful! I’m so happy for you! This calls for another toast!”

  “There hasn’t been a baby in the family since Coleman.” Billie laughed. “When is this wonderful new addition to arrive?”

  “In time for my birthday. February.” Susan was brightening before Billie’s eyes. Already there was more color in her cheeks, and her eyes were glowing.

  “That’s if all goes well,” Jerome said.

  “Why shouldn’t it?” Amelia asked. “Our Susan’s a strong, healthy woman. Or is there something you’re not telling us, Jerome?”

  He was saved from having to reply by Sawyer, who had left her place at the table and stood behind Susan’s chair. “If you’re in the market for a godmother, I volunteer. How lucky you are, Susan! So very lucky.” She squeezed Susan in a hug.

  Rand’s pulses were pounding. The naked want on Sawyer’s face saddened him and terrified him at the same time. They’d talked of this, of marriage and children. Sawyer should have children, lots of them. She’d be a wonderful mother. But what of himself? He just couldn’t see himself at fifty with toddlers climbing on his knee. He knew Sawyer was looking at him, willing him to share her secret smile, to give her some sign that one day the two of them would achieve this miracle. When Rand refused to meet her eyes, Sawyer dropped her head, silky blond hair hiding her face.

  Susan patted Sawyer’s hand and looked directly at Jerome. “Don’t say another word, but I’m going to have another scoop of ice cream.” There was a challenge in her eyes, determination in the set of her mouth. There, it was out in the open. She’d told her family and they were delighted. Until this very moment, with Jerome’s badgering, she hadn’t been certain herself that she wanted this baby. But now her family knew, and they were happy for her.

  Servants were clearing the table, bringing out an array of cordials: Courvoisier for the men, Grand Marnier for the women. Bowls of fruits and boards of cheeses replaced pie plates and ice cream salvers.

  Billie followed Riley’s gaze as it rested first on one face, then another. It hurt to look at the boy. Her heart ached for her dead son. Seeing Riley, now a young man, recalled so many old torments. It was uncanny how much he resembled his father, her son who had died so young. Hardly fifteen, but already he was as tall as his father had been at twenty. Maggie was right: the worn jeans and favorite shirts and perhaps even the boots that had been stored away because no one could bear to dispose of them would fit the boy now. If Riley chose to wear them. And Billie knew what his decision would be. She hoped she’d be gone from here before then. Grief, it seemed, held to no time clock.

  Maggie clutched Billie’s hand as they walked back to the house to rest for a while and change before the guests began to arrive. “I’m scared as hell about tonight, Mam. I don’t know if I can pull this off.”

  “You’ll do fine, Maggie. Stop worrying and just enjoy your guests. Everything’s under control, and you have your entire family here to back you up.”

  Maggie slipped her arm around Billie’s shoulder and squeezed. The deep sable tones in her hair contrasted with Billie’s blondness. “I know, and I appreciate it, believe me. It’s just that I’m afraid to make a fool of myself. Sunbridge is home now; it’s important to me to be accepted by my neighbors.”

  Billie laughed merrily. “I’d hardly call the governor and his wife neighbors, but I know what you mean. As we were driving out today, I saw how developed Crystal City has become. I remember when it was Crystal Crossroads, with nothing but a general store and a gas station. Now, it seems, culture has arrived. Boutiques and bookshops, and didn’t I see an art gallery and gift shop?”

  “You did. And a hair salon and haberdashers. You name it, we’ve got it. Most of the shops and businesses have been opened by bored matrons from the country club. Their clientele consists mainly of one another, but I’d say they’re thriving, giving Neiman-Marcus a run for its money.”

  “It’s been almost a year since you’re out here, Maggie. Have you joined the club and made friends?”

  “I’ve joined the country club, but I don’t know if I’ve made friends. Oh, I play tennis and even some golf, and I’m a member of the Cattleman’s Association, but I don’t really know if they accept me.”

  “I felt the same way when I lived here with your father. They’re a closed unit, and while they smile on the outside, I guess you have to be one of them to know what’s going on inside. I wasn’t born here, Maggie; you were. You’re more like them than you know—you belong here. Besides, you’re not lacking in social skills. I remember some of the clippings from the social columns describing the parties you threw when you lived in New York with Cranston. And even before that, you were director of Sandor Locke’s art gallery as well as his unofficial hostess. I should think that New York crowd would be much more critical than people here in Texas. You’ve always been a success, Maggie; things won’t change now.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mam. This is a first for me.” Maggie opened the door to the house and allowed Billie to step through. “I didn’t get one refusal, but I can’t fool myself. I know why they’re coming and so do you. They want another look at all of us, Amelia, Susan, you.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but we’ll present the united front you want. Stop worrying. As you said, no one refused your invitation, not even the governor!”

  “They want to eat my food and drink my liquor! They’re all freeloaders who live from one party to the next!”

  Billie giggled. “Seth used to say almost the same thing. ... And Maggie, I noticed that you aren’t drinking at all. I’m proud of you, believe me.”

  “I do, Mam. I need a clear head for my future, and I won’t clutter it up with booze and pills. I don’t want to be dependent on anything except my own resources. I have Cole and Riley to think of now. It’s a new Maggie.”

  “And I like her,” Billie said. “I always liked the old Maggie, too.”

  “For a while I didn’t know that, Mam. I wasn’t certain anyone liked the old Maggie, not even myself.”

  “Maggie, Sawyer doesn’t—”

  “Not now, Mam. Not today. I’m not so sure this new me is strong enough to tackle that old skeleton. Let me take it one step at a time.”

  “All right, Maggie. But it won’t go away, you know. Sooner or later you and Sawyer will have to resolve your feeli
ngs.”

  “I know. I’m doing my best. I’ll try, really.”

  “You know, just for a minute you looked like Moss,” Billie said quietly. “That same haunted expression used to come into his eyes when he was forced to make a promise he had no intention of keeping. I’m sorry, Maggie. I don’t want to press you.”

  Billie shivered and a sudden prickle of goose bumps broke out on her arms. “Come away from the door, Mam; we’re standing in a draft.” Then, in a lighter tone, “Guess what I’m wearing tonight.”

  Billie laughed. “The honeysuckle-patterned beaded gown?”

  “Exactly. It’ll knock everyone’s eyes out. Everyone will know you designed the fabric especially for me. Amelia said she bought a new Adolfo, and Susan told me she’s wearing the two-piece watered silk you sent her for Christmas. I didn’t get a chance to ask Sawyer.”

  “Whatever she wears, she’ll be stunning. Are you planning on a receiving line, Maggie?”

  “Absolutely. All the Coleman women will be lined up to let ’em get a first-crack look at us. What’re you planning to wear?”

  “Well, since you insist they’re coming to gawk, I just might wear my birthday suit! That should set them back on their heels!”

  Cary stepped out of the shower and into the thickly carpeted bedroom, a scanty towel wrapped around his hard, lean middle. With another towel he was drying his obstinately wavy black hair.

  “Are you finished with the bathroom?” asked Amelia. “How come you always get to use the shower first?”

  “Because I don’t stay in there for two hours and you do.” Cary quipped, moving closer to plant a kiss on the side of her neck. Lovingly he took his wife’s hand and held it, oblivious to the network of blue veins and the faint brown splotches. He only felt the softness and the affectionate pressure she returned.

  “Mmmm. You smell so good.” Amelia relished the feel of his lips against her skin and his fresh soapy scent. Beads of water clung to his shoulders and glistened in the thick mat of his chest hair.

  Cary recognized the expression in Amelia’s eyes and the heated quality of her voice. “I’ll give you a nickel if you yank off this towel,” he murmured intimately. “And two bits if you follow through.”

  Amelia resisted the intoxicating invitation and quelled her pulse-thumping reaction with a laugh. “Make it a dollar and you might have a deal.” She moved away from him, carrying the impression of his touch with her. She didn’t want him to see how much his overtures pleased her, how hungry she was for him. “But first I’ll have my shower, and it’s going to take me time to redo my makeup. . . .” She paused thoughtfully. “On second thought, make that ten bucks.”

  “Sweetheart, you could appear at this shindig wearing a J.C. Penney towel, and you’d still be the best-looking broad here.”

  “No, thank you, I’d rather wear the dress I brought especially for this occasion.” She stepped over to him and presented her back for him to undo her zipper. “Cary darling, what did you think of the clan?” His answer was important to her and Cary knew it, too, so he chose his words carefully.

  “It’s a family I’d like to belong to.”

  “You do. You married me.”

  “I mean, I’d like to have been born into it.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me. You think we were always like we are now. Well, you’re wrong.” Her tone lowered, old regrets coloring her voice. “Cary, people did awful things to one another in this house.” Then, wanting to be on firmer ground, she asked, “What did you think of Billie?”

  “She’s terrific. Her admiral is an okay guy, too.”

  Cary’s streetwise vernacular never bothered Amelia. In fact, she enjoyed being called a “good-looking broad.” She’d known others with more refined speech and manners who hadn’t half the honesty and character of Cary. She sucked in her breath when he dropped the skimpy towel around his middle and stepped into silky bikini briefs. She blinked and looked at her watch meaningfully.

  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 cou
ld 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.”