Texas Sunrise Page 6

  “Billie Limited was never a part of Coleman Enterprises. Coleman Aviation is. Furthermore, Rand,” Maggie said with an edge to her voice, “I’m not asking for a loan of a hundred million dollars. As far as I’m concerned, Sawyer’s plane and Cole’s financial decisions are a family matter, and a very serious one.”

  “I agree,” Susan said. “This family’s financial problems are like a roller coaster. One year we’re up and the next we’re in a deep ditch. Ferris always said it was poor management, which I guess means Riley isn’t doing a good job.”

  Maggie bristled, as did Rand. The disgust in her voice brought tears to Susan’s eyes. “Ferris certainly did a good job managing your money, now didn’t he? I don’t like what you just said, Susan. Riley has done a great job. Our books are open to all the family. Everything tallies right to the penny. You were sent a year-end report. Did you take the time to read it?”

  “Ferris read it, or at least he said he did,” Susan said miserably.

  “For whatever it’s worth, I agree with Maggie,” Rand said quietly.

  Susan stirred the food on her plate, her eyes downcast. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s just that I relied on Ferris for so long. I don’t trust my judgment anymore. Don’t be upset with me.”

  “So do we call Riley or not?” Maggie asked. “I vote we do.”

  “I agree,” Susan said.

  The bad moments were over.

  “I move we head down the beach and walk off this dinner,” Rand said, loosening the button on his shorts. “It’s a beautiful evening, so let’s take advantage of it. We can re-create old memories under the moon and stars like we used to do when we were kids. Remember that, Susan? God, did you ask questions! How high is the moon, how many stars are there, and why is the sky black at night and blue in the daytime.”

  “Yeah, and you lied to me. You didn’t know the answers any more than I did. I thought because you were five years older than me that you knew everything.” Susan snorted.

  Rand laughed and Maggie giggled.

  “I wish I could go back sometime, be a kid again,” Susan said quietly. “We’re to the halfway mark, and it’s scary. At least to me.”

  They walked, their arms linked, their bare toes digging into the sand. A long time later they headed back to the house. The moon was mellow, the sky star-spangled. Susan thought it an omen as she bid her sister and brother-in-law good night.

  “I’m going to sit out here for a while. Should I lock up?”

  Rand and Maggie laughed. “We never lock our doors. Don’t stay up too late. We’re going to have a busy day tomorrow. Rand and I get up at the crack of dawn, and I’m driving him to the airport at seven.” Maggie kissed her sister lightly on the cheek. “You can relax now, Suse, everything is in capable hands.”

  Susan ached with loneliness at the sound of Rand and Maggie’s easy banter as they walked through the house. She wondered if they were going to make love. She couldn’t remember the last time Ferris had made love to her. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex, that bodily release that sometimes made things bearable.

  Rand’s cigarettes, which he smoked infrequently, lay at Susan’s side. She reached for one. A terrible, nasty habit—smoking. She’d started after Jessie’s death. Ferris chided her, railed at her, ridiculed her to get her to stop, but she hadn’t listened. He posted signs all over the house with the Surgeon General’s ominous report. She hadn’t cared about that either. It was either cigarettes or sucking her thumb. She lit up a cigarette and blew a whirl of smoke toward the potted plants on the lanai. She wondered if she would die. She decided she really didn’t care one way or the other.

  Susan leaned back on the chaise. The moon shined through the slats overhead, and in its light the trailing vines glowed like dark emeralds. Tomorrow, when she wasn’t feeling so shitty, she would walk through the house and savor its beauty. Tears slipped from between her lashes. She hated herself for wallowing. She was weak, but then she’d always known that. All the Colemans had guts but her. Tomorrow Rand and Valentine Mitchell, the family’s lawyer, would go to Minnesota to fight her battles for her. Once before, Valentine and Rand had fought for her. That time they had taken on Jerome, her first husband, and they had made it all work out to her advantage. Could they work their magic a second time? Ferris was a powerful man.

  Susan wiped angrily at her tears. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry, and here she was, slobbering like a child. Well, by God, she was finished with wallowing. Maggie was helping her to get on with her life, and she was going to take advantage of that.

  The moon was working its way into hiding when Susan glanced down at her watch. Her mind raced. Cary Assante, Amelia’s widower, was an early riser. Right this very minute he was probably wolfing down one of the huge breakfasts that he said made his day possible. She’d lost track of the times she’d called him over the past year. The first time, he’d choked up when she asked him how she was to get through the days after Jessie’s death. The second time, they both cried. Whenever she called, in the darkest hours of the night or during the lightest hours of the day, Cary was there for her. They spoke of everything and nothing: of love, hate, betrayal, birds and cats, mush and grits. She thought she had come to know more about Cary Assante than did anyone else in the world. They’d touched on Julie and Cary’s guilt, and on Ferris’s and her own. She’d told him how beautiful the young nurse named Martina was, and how young. Cary told her she was beautiful too, both inside and outside.

  On the first anniversary of Jessie’s death, she’d traveled back to Texas and walked up the hill alone, to the smallest of all the graves. When a pair of arms encircled her shoulders, she didn’t have to see Cary’s face to know it was him. At that moment, she’d thought it most wonderful and remarkable that Cary was so attuned to her that he had showed up at exactly the right minute. Later she found out he’d called the house, and Ferris told him she’d run off like a ninny because she was cracking up. “Losing it,” Ferns had said.

  The portable phone found its way into her hands, and she punched out the numbers. She sucked in her breath while she waited for Cary’s voice to hum across the wires.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  “Hi, yourself. How’s it going, Susan?”

  “It’s not. Will I ruin your day if I unload a bit?” she asked anxiously.

  “Not my day,” Cary said cheerfully. “Today we’re clearing the last piece of land. We’ll be ready by July. Then I’m going to take off on a trip around the world. Want to come?”

  “If I can afford it, I’d like that very much.” She told him about Maggie’s offer. “Rand and Valentine Mitchell are leaving for Minnesota in the morning.”

  “That’s good,” Cary said cheerfully. “You’re too vulnerable right now. You’re thinking with your heart, and we can’t have that. Let the experts have a go-round. I’m glad you’re with Maggie. Family is important at times like this. You’re still planning on coming to Texas in July, aren’t you?”

  “Cary, nothing could keep me away. And Cary, thanks for talking to me. I think I can sleep now.”

  “My day is just beginning. I’m going out to play with my dynamite charges while you snooze the hours away.”

  Susan laughed. “I’ll call you next week. Be careful with that dynamite.”

  “I will. Enjoy the sunshine. Give Maggie and Rand my love.”

  “I will. Wait a minute, Cary. I want to ask you something. This is none of my business, but did you have an offer to sell Miranda?”

  “More than one, but I said no. Amelia would never forgive me. Take care, Susan.”

  Susan stretched out on the chaise lounge. Sleeping outdoors was rather appealing, if sleep was possible. She was wide awake, wired, as the young people said. She sat up and lit another cigarette. There was still one call to make.

  Her arm shot up so she could see the time on her watch. Ten o‘clock. Three o’clock in Vermont.

  “She won’t be there. She’s never there
when I need her,” Susan said to herself as she punched out her mother’s number. Her face turned ugly when Billie’s recorded message came over the wire. She angrily broke the connection. She hated that message machine. So what if it was three o’clock in the morning? Mothers, real mothers, were supposed to be on twenty-four-hour call. She called again, but this time she waited for the sound of the beep. “Mother, this is Susan. You know, Susan your daughter. I need to talk to you, but as usual, you aren’t there for me. I’m in Hawaii with Maggie, your firstborn, your favorite daughter. Do you think there will ever be a time—” The connection pinged in her ear. Disgust was written all over her face as Susan slammed the phone to the table.

  It was always this way when she spoke to her mother’s machine, worse when her mother called her back. “Well, fuck you, Mother, I don’t need you, wherever the hell you are.”

  Susan was dozing when the portable pinged to life. It had to be her mother. Who else would be calling at this time of night? Her voice was cautious when she said a wary “Hello?”

  “Susan?”

  How gentle-sounding her mother’s voice was, how concerned. Susan stiffened.

  “Who else did you expect to answer the phone—Maggie?” Susan’s voice sounded so cold, it was hard for her to believe it was her own.

  “I didn’t expect you to be in Hawaii, but then you don’t write, and the only time you call is ...”

  “When something is wrong. Isn’t that what you were going to say, Mother? You’re known for telling us you’re always there for any one of us, day or night, but for some strange reason you’re never there for me. Why do you think I’m here in Hawaii instead of Vermont?”

  “Susan, what’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering the question, Susan asked one of her own. “Where the hell are you this time?”

  “England. Thad wanted to visit a few of his friends in Parliament. It’s a little after ten. I call three times a day to retrieve our messages. Now will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Do you remember the last time I saw you in the flesh, Mother? It was at Jessie’s funeral. I think that’s pretty sad.”

  “Why do you suppose that is, Susan?”

  “Go ahead, Mother, slam it back to me the way you always do. You go to Texas to see Cary, Riley, and Ivy, you go to New York to see Sawyer and Adam, you come here to see Maggie and Rand, and you were in Japan not too long ago to see Cole and Sumi. You’ve never been to Minnesota.”

  “You never invited me, Susan. I thought you didn’t want me there.”

  “Are you saying you would have come if I asked you to? If I asked you right now to come here to Hawaii, would you come?”

  “Darling, I can’t right this minute. Thad is ... we’re in England.”

  “I knew you’d say that, I just knew it,” Susan said spitefully. Then her voice broke and she heard herself scream. “You abandoned me, you gave me up, and it doesn’t matter if it was to family or not, you gave me up and let Aunt Amelia raise me! I’m not part of this family, I never was. Just go to hell, Mam, just go to fucking hell.” Her shaky finger pressed the button to break the connection. In a fit of anger, she released it and then tossed the phone in the general direction of the beach.

  A wave of pure hate, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, rushed through her. She had to pay attention to what she was feeling now, experiencing. All those shrinks she’d spoken to had said her problem was deeply rooted in her childhood, and when she was ready to deal with it, to pull it out and look it in the face, she would be on the right road to understanding why she did the things she did, why she kept making the same mistakes over and over. Tonight, she’d finally used the right word, the word she’d always refused to say aloud: abandoned.

  “God, how I hate you, Mother. You should die for what you’ve done to me. And don’t think for one minute I’m going to take your first love up on her offer to work in your business. Not in this lifetime.”

  Exhausted with her mental and verbal tirade, Susan curled into the fetal position, the knuckle of her thumb in her mouth. She was asleep within seconds.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Heads turned, male as well as female. The men leered, and the women frowned and sucked in their stomachs. The object of their scrutiny strutted her stuff, her red-gold hair flaming out behind her as she walked impatiently up and down the concourse. At her side she held a Bottega Veneta briefcase. She’d just parked—in a no parking zone—her Lamborghini sports car, which could zip off at 180 miles per hour if one chose to put the pedal to the metal. Valentine Mitchell so chose, and had the traffic tickets to prove it.

  She flicked back the cuff of her Armani jacket to check the time on her Presidential Rolex. The jacket, as well as her skirt, had been sculpted for her body by none other than Armani himself.

  As the cuff fell back over her wrist, she raised her sleepy green eyes and met those of an aging banker in a three-piece business suit.

  “In your dreams, old man,” she whispered sotto voce.

  The old banker apparently mistook her for a hooker. “I wouldn’t give you two dollars,” he muttered.

  She laughed, and the banker walked out through the door, feeling like a fool.

  Valentine was waiting for Rand Nelson. Lord Rand Nelson. Now that was a hoot. He’d caught up with her in Los Angeles just as she was packing to drive her new Lamborghini back to Texas. There was no way she could refuse his request, as she was on a retainer from the Coleman family.

  Spotting him at the same moment he spied her, Valentine smiled and did a little jig to make sure enough leg showed. Rand whistled approvingly. God, he was handsome, all six feet two inches of him. She approved of his Hawaiian tan, his dark hair shot with silvery strands at the temple. The mustache was new since she’d seen him last, as were the dark glasses he wore to cover his gorgeous dark eyes, which had lashes long enough to kill for. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, inhaling the scent of her perfume.

  “Lady,” he grinned, “you are a killer.”

  “And you, Lord Nelson, are as handsome and debonair as usual.”

  Rand fingered his collar and wondered why his neck felt as warm as it did. He liked her perfume. It suggested faraway places, incense, and veils—veils that came off. For the life of him he couldn’t remember what kind of perfume his wife wore. The sudden urge to bolt and run was so strong that he felt he had to dig his feet into the airport carpeting.

  “We have time for a drink,” he said hoarsely.

  “Sounds good. Double scotch on the rocks for me,” Valentine said, following him into the airport lounge.

  Rand’s eyebrows shot upward. “Isn’t that a man’s drink?” He gave the order to the waitress.

  “I work in a man’s world, Rand. I’ve had to join ’em, as the saying goes. Now what are we going to do about Susan and Ferris?”

  “I have the key to the house,” Rand said, “so we can stay there and map out our strategy. Or we could go to a hotel. Or you could go to a hotel.” He held his breath, praying she would say she’d go to a hotel.

  Valentine leaned across the table, her perfume wafting about her like a breeze. “The house is fine, Rand. I hate running up a client’s bill unnecessarily. By the way, how is the rest of the family? Bring me up to date. It’s been four or five years.”

  “Everyone is fine. You know about my daughter Chesney, of course. Sawyer is designing a new plane, and Cole’s wife is due to have her baby any day now. Riley’s son is about six months old. Sawyer has twin girls, you know. We haven’t seen Billie and Thad for a while but understand they’re fine. Cary is about finished with his memorial to Amelia. Maggie and I are doing well, of course, and Susan is the one with the problem. That’s about it,” Rand said, tossing his hands in the air.

  “What’s Maggie doing these days?”

  The devilish look in Valentine’s eyes was upsetting. “Well, yes, there is other news. Maggie and Susan are taking over Billie Limited. I thought you knew. Maggie said she sent you reams of
paperwork.”

  “It’s probably on my desk back at the office. I’ve been in Los Angeles for the past six weeks. These movie people are so hard to deal with.”

  Rand nodded. He wondered what Maggie was doing.

  “Am I bothering you, Rand? You look uneasy, like you want to get away from me.”

  “Hell, yes, you bother me. I think every man in this bar has a hard-on just looking at you. Can you, you know, tone down or something? Wear a hat or put on a sweater . . . or something.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying you’re attracted to me? Are you worried that I might try to seduce you? For heaven’s sake, Rand, I’d never do that. I adore Maggie. If you’re one of those guys in this bar who has a hard-on, then I suggest you squelch it, because you simply aren’t my type.”

  Well, shit, Rand thought. He had to say something, make some kind of comeback to wipe that victorious smile off her face. “You definitely aren’t my type either,” he said, rather lamely. “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you say we get down to business?”

  “Yes, let’s,” Valentine agreed.

  It was a pretty house, Rand thought, surrounded by gracious old elms that were in the process of dressing themselves for spring. Once, when Ferris had been in residence, it must have been manicured to perfection. Now the grass was brown and full of wide-leaf crabgrass, and the flower beds were choked with weeds.

  “Gardeners cost money,” he said tightly.

  Valentine nodded.

  “This house kind of looks like the one we had in England,” he continued. “Very cottagey, if there is such a word. That’s an English garden at the side of the house, and I’d bet five dollars Susan tended it herself. She was happy here. So was little Jessie. I thought they had a good working marriage. I mean, the kind of marriage Billie and Thad have.”

  “Sometimes people grow apart, things go wrong, one changes, the other doesn’t,” Valentine said quietly.