Texas Heat

by Fern Michaels

  Sawyer led Cole along her favorite riding paths, skirting the scrupulously fed and watered lawn, taking him into the low-rising hills far out of sight of the house and sound of occasional trucks on the highway. Off in the distance, they’d seen Rand and Riley returning from their morning’s ride, and Sawyer watched them until they were out of sight. She felt the distance between Rand and herself was much greater than the mile or more of Sunbridge acreage that separated them now. She flushed when she remembered how she’d tried to seduce him earlier that morning. Why wouldn’t he talk to her, tell her what was wrong?

  When Sawyer and Cole returned to the house, they turned their mounts over to a groom. “I’m for a shower,” she said, “and you don’t smell so hot yourself. C’mon, I’ll race you!”

  Cole ran close on her heels. He had the slim, loosely jointed body of a natural athlete, and he moved with grace.

  “Nice going!” she called over her shoulder. “C’mon, don’t stop now!”

  Rand, sitting on the back patio, heard Sawyer’s familiar laugh, and when he turned, he saw her running ahead of Cole toward the house. The sun shot her hair full of golden lights, and her long, slim legs ate up the distance. He’d never thought there was much resemblance between Sawyer and her half brother, but now he noticed the same agility, the same loose stride, slim hips, and coltish legs. He found himself smiling.

  When they’d rounded the side of the house and were no longer in view, Rand laid his head against the back of his redwood armchair. Seeing Sawyer running across the lawn with Cole was another reminder of how young she was. So wonderfully young. But he knew her youth wouldn’t protect her from the pain he was inflicting. He must talk to her, explain. But what explanation could a man offer a woman who loved him and thought she was loved in return?

  He laughed, a bitter, tight sound. That was just the trouble: he did love Sawyer. He simply did not love her enough.

  She was young, resilient; she’d forget him. She deserved the best life had to offer—a family, children to mother, the right to fulfill her ambitions and build her career without a disenchanted husband who wanted a quieter, simpler life. She should not have to sacrifice anything for him.

  Rand sat lost in his thoughts for a very long time, grateful that no one came out to the patio to interrupt the silence. He liked it out here amid the huge redwood tubs, which held shrubs and bright red and yellow flowers. Maggie had seen to every comfort. Intimate groupings of brightly cushioned furnishings invited leisure and conversation. Less than a step away on the dull gray flagstones was a portable bar, well stocked with cold drinks and snacks, with a television and telephone on top. The pool nearby was perfect for cooling off, although he’d been too lazy to indulge when he’d returned from his ride with Riley.

  There were stirrings in the house now—voices, footsteps. Rand glanced at his watch: almost the cocktail hour. His stomach churned in rejection of the idea, anticipating the inevitable confrontation with Sawyer. Suddenly memories of their times together, their shared experiences, came flooding back. He pushed them away, refusing to be drawn into the intimacy they created.

  “Hello, I thought I’d find you out here,” Sawyer said lightly as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “If you’re buying, I could use a Coke.”

  “And what kind of day did you have?” Sawyer asked cheerfully as she walked over to the portable bar.

  “Lazy. What did you do?”

  “I got to know Cole a little. I helped him clean the barn and we went riding. He seems to be a nice enough kid who has a few problems, but then don’t we all?” She handed Rand his soda in a frosty glass and sat down in the chair opposite his. “What did you think of my stepbrother?”

  “I’m the last person you should be asking. He managed to tie one on last night, and Riley and I had to dry him out. He’s a bit young for that sort of thing. Other than that, I can’t say I know the boy at all. Riley, now, is something different. I spent quite a lot of time with him last year when we were in Japan, and he’s what a young man is all about.”

  Sawyer could hear the clipped British formality in Rand’s voice, a sure sign of his disapproval. Defensively, she replied, “It was probably the only way Cole could get through Maggie’s party. You have to admit it was overwhelming.”

  “The boy could have caused quite a scene, and this party was very important to Maggie. He should have had enough consideration for his mother to behave.”

  “You sound like a stern father.”

  “God forbid! That’s the one role in life I’m not cut out for. I suppose it is easy to preach about other people’s children.”

  “Yes, I guess so. Isn’t it exciting, though, that Susan is going to have a baby?” Sawyer said dreamily. “A baby at Sunbridge again. I was the last one.”

  “That’s right. Cole wasn’t born here, was he?”

  “No, in New York. I don’t think he regards Sunbridge the way the rest of us do. Sometimes I think we’re all obsessed with this pile of bricks.”

  “It’s a beautiful place. I can’t deny that,” Rand said, bringing his glass to his lips.

  Sawyer noticed, not for the first time, that he was having trouble meeting her gaze. “What’s wrong, Rand? Did I do or say something that offended you? You’ve been avoiding me since we got here. Even as far back as Easter I sensed something was wrong. Have you had a change of heart?” There, the dreaded question was out. She held her breath, locking her gaze with Rand’s.

  “Sawyer, there’s no easy way to say this. It won’t work for us. We’re worlds apart in just about everything. You’re young and you have your whole career ahead of you. I’m so much older than you. You deserve children. I don’t want children. I . . . I don’t think I even want to get married.”

  Sawyer could feel the heat on her face. The sick feeling in her stomach was crawling up to her chest and throat. She wanted to cry, could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She should be saying something, but she couldn’t seem to think straight. “Don’t I have anything to say about all of this?” Sawyer whispered in a choked voice. “The children, marriage, our ages?”

  “No.”

  That one word, so dreaded, so quietly said, destroyed her. This was final; she could read it in the pain in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. Sawyer stood up, her glass shattering on the flagstones unnoticed. She jammed her hands into her pockets so he wouldn’t see how they trembled. “I love you, Rand. I thought you loved me.”

  “And you had every right to think so.” He stood to face her; his hands reached to steady her, to soothe her. “I love you, Sawyer. You’re a beautiful, wonderful person. But I’m not in love with you. It . . . it just wouldn’t work for us. Believe me, I never wanted to hurt you—”

  “Is there anyone else?” she blurted, unable to stop herself.

  He seemed startled that she should ask, even offended. “No, of course there isn’t. I’m so sorry. You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

  Sawyer clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to kick, to scream, No, I don’t know any such thing! You just ripped my heart out and you say you wouldn’t hurt me for the world. You’re my world, Rand, you! But she bit back the words, swallowed the screams. Colemans don’t snivel and they don’t buckle under. Isn’t that what she’d said to Cole only hours ago? Well, she was a Coleman . . . and right now she wanted to throw herself at this man who had just crushed her world, beg him to take back the words.

  Cole stood in the doorway. He’d heard part of the conversation, and now he saw the expression on Sawyer’s face, in her eyes. Without thinking, he ran out to the patio, seized Sawyer by the arm, and dragged her into the house. The first open door led into Seth’s old study, a small room occupied by a large desk and several worn leather armchairs.

  “You can cry now,” he told her. “I’ll never tell.”

  Sawyer sank down behind the huge oak desk beside Coleman. She hid her great heaving sobs
from the world, accepting only the solace Cole offered with his presence and hesitant comforting pats. He dug in his pocket to offer her his handkerchief.

  A long time later she blew her nose lustily. Look-alike eyes met in understanding. “He’ll change his mind,” she said. “He loves me. You’ll see. He loves me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Texas sky was dark, the usual puffy white clouds now a dark blue blanket shrouding Sunbridge. Rand stood on the wide front portico overlooking the old rose garden and tree-lined drive, his hands jammed tightly in his pockets. There was a storm brewing; winds from the southeast were churning tree limbs and rattling the shutters. He should have left Sunbridge by now, but he’d wanted to stay because of Sawyer. Once he’d told her it was over between them, he felt it only fair to be around in case she needed to talk. He’d had enough of avoiding, of running away, and he’d wanted to see for himself that Sawyer would be all right.

  Instead, it had been Sawyer who had avoided him, occupying herself with Cole and Riley; but Rand had often felt her watching him, listening to his conversations with others. He’d known she was waiting for him to approach her, to say something crazy had gotten into him and beg her to forgive him. Yesterday she’d left Sunbridge, her eyes dark with questions and hurt. He knew all it would take was one phone call from him and Sawyer would return. He could make her world right again.... But no, this was best, for both of them.

  A sudden driving wind buffeted through the portico, forcing him backward into the shelter of the doorway. The air was thick with humidity, strong with the smell of oncoming rain. The slender stalks in the rose garden bent before the wind; petals swirled upward like confetti. The storm was welcome; it gave him something to think about besides Sawyer and what he’d done. He could find shelter from the rain inside the fortress walls of Sunbridge, but what he really needed was safety from his own emotions.

  It was-darker now; the arthritic old trees bent beneath the onslaught. He searched the slate-gray sky, having heard tales of the merciless twisters that could plague this part of Texas.

  He turned around and looked up at the house. No lamplight shone from the front windows. Susan and Jerome had left Sunbridge days ago, but Amelia and Cary were still here, out promoting their land deal. Riley and Cole were probably in the barn, which left only Maggie and the servants in the house.

  Rand went inside and pushed the door closed against the wind. It was darker in the foyer than it was outside. Not a single light shone, and the bleakness increased his anxiety. “Maggie! Maggie!” he called, moving to the interior of the house, switching on lamps as he went.

  At the bottom of the stairs he called upward, “Maggie, you up there? It’s really blowing up out there; we’re in for a real Texas storm!”

  He fumbled for the wall switch, and the magnificent center mahogany staircase appeared. The thick Navajo-patterned carpet runner silenced his footfalls as he mounted the steps. Maybe it was the oncoming storm, but something had him thinking too much, remembering too much. He tried to shrug off all his thoughts, thoughts of Sawyer, Cole, Maggie.... He’d been concerned about Maggie since she’d told him Cole had invited Cranston to Sunbridge. He wondered how she’d handle seeing Cranston again here, in her own home. He liked Maggie—probably more than he should.

  Suddenly he decided to finish his packing and leave, storm or no storm, right away. He wanted out of Sunbridge, away from Maggie and her son, now, before Cranston arrived. He didn’t belong here.

  “Can’t wait to leave, is that it?” Maggie queried as she swept down the hallway, only to back up at the sound of Rand’s suitcase snapping shut. “By the way, thanks for lighting the house.”

  “No problem, I assure you,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Is anything wrong, Rand?” she asked uneasily.

  “Not at all. I just thought I’d leave a bit early. Who knows what’ll happen to the flights or how long this storm will last.”

  Maggie’s face showed alarm. “Surely you aren’t thinking of driving to the airport now. Have you ever seen one of our storms?”

  “Yes, I was thinking of leaving now, and no, I’ve never had the pleasure. Don’t tell me you’re concerned for my safety.” He’d said it sarcastically, yet he realized that her answer was important to him. Right now, he needed someone to care about him.

  “Of course I’m concerned,” she answered seriously, searching his face with her eyes. “Rand, it’s raining now, the proverbial buckets. I doubt if you’d get as far as Crystal City before the road washed out. I was going to suggest you call the airline and reschedule your flight till tomorrow or even next week. You aren’t in a hurry to get back to England, are you?”

  “Won’t it be a little awkward when your husband arrives?” he said stiffly. “Amelia and Cary are hardly ever here. I’d just be in the way.”

  “In whose way? Certainly not mine. I don’t care if Cranston never comes. Once he gets here it’ll be one problem after another. Unfortunately, I have to deal with it this time: Cole’s future is at stake.” She gave him a tight little smile. “Cranston doesn’t want Cole to come and live with him, not really, except for the fact that it would hurt me. He’s just using the boy. Your being here might even ease the situation a little.”

  “No, thank you, Maggie. I don’t like playing middleman in a domestic situation.”

  “I wasn’t trying to use you for that, Rand, really I wasn’t. It’s just that . . . that . . .” Maggie looked down at her shoes, and Rand almost expected her to scuff them in the carpet. “You see,” she began again, “Cranston has always been able to intimidate me. Everything that happened between us has always been my fault, according to him. Most of it was, I suppose, but not all of it. Maybe it’s just the way I react around some men. My father and grandfather always intimidated me, and now when I look back, I think it was one of the reasons I was drawn to Cranston. I thought I had something to prove. If Cranston could accept me, love me even, then it might mean that my father and grandfather could respect and love me, too.”

  “And what about me, Maggie? Do I intimidate you?”

  She laughed. “Not at all. I’m quite comfortable with you. I’m sorry you’re leaving; I could have used a friend while Cranston is here. And I’m even sorrier that you seem unhappy.”

  “You know something went wrong between Sawyer and me, don’t you? You’re just too polite and well-mannered to ask.”

  “I wasn’t prying, Rand. Sawyer is your business.”

  “In a way, she’s yours, too.”

  “No, not really. We may be mother and daughter, but we’re two very different people.”

  “It might have helped her to talk to another woman.”

  Maggie flinched at Rand’s words. She’d tried to approach Sawyer but hadn’t been able to face her daughter’s hostility. How was she to explain that to Rand when she couldn’t explain it to herself? “A—a friendship has to be earned. It’s never been that way between Sawyer and me.... Well, I have things to do. Let me know if you’ll be here for dinner, won’t you?”

  She was gone, down the hall and around the corner to the stairs. She’d caught him off guard with her candor. It was something he’d never been led to expect from Maggie. The old Maggie, he corrected himself. He decided he liked this Maggie. And he especially liked the scent of her perfume. Hell, maybe he would stay until after dinner.

  Rand managed to kill time by reading seventy-seven pages of a novel whose title he later couldn’t remember. He hoped no one ever quizzed him on the contents.

  A drumroll sounded overhead, followed by a second, a third, and then a loud crash. Jagged streaks of lightning tore across the sky, piercing his room with a blaze of light. Another ominous collision in the sky and the room went dark. The power was out. Faintly, he could hear Maggie’s voice calling from downstairs for everyone to stay still and she would be up with candles.

  “Sort of like Halloween, isn’t it?” Maggie smiled as she entered his room, a candle in one hand and a hurricane la
mp in the other. “The boys are downstairs. We have a generator, but I don’t know the first thing about it. Would you mind taking a look? We could be without power until tomorrow. This is a bad one.” Maggie nodded toward the window. “We should have dressed for the occasion. I wish I’d thought of it earlier. The boys might have had some fun. They look so glum. No television, no stereo, just plain old conversation or reading by lamplight.”

  “I imagine we’ll all survive,” Rand said. He was standing too close to Maggie, drinking in the scent of her, seeing the softness of her hands and wanting to touch them. He backed up until she was bathed in pale yellow light. It was true; a woman looked beautiful in candlelight. At least this woman did.

  “There are so many shadows here, so many dark corners. Susan and I used to hide and play games up here. I always found Susan.”

  “Susan couldn’t find you. Is that it? You must have been aces at the game.”

  “Susan didn’t like to play games,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “She preferred to read or color in her books.”

  “I remember Susan as a child,” Rand smiled. “She was like a little sister to me, too. She was always more interested in her studies than in games. I think of those days often.”

  “I never think about them,” Maggie said firmly.

  “Maybe you should. Maybe it would help you understand your own son a little better.”

  They were standing at the top of the stairs. Everywhere there were candles in decorative holders, hurricane lamps, and a flashlight or two casting light upward.

  Maggie turned around until she was just inches from Rand. “Why do I get the feeling you can’t make up your mind if you like me or not? Does it have something to do with Sawyer?”

  “Maggie, you’re wrong. I do like you. Too much. I know exactly where you’ve been and where it is you want to go. I’ve been down that road myself a time or two.” He paused, then added almost brusquely, “Don’t analyze. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”