Texas fury (19 page)

Coots waved off the waitress. The signal to start talking business.

"I warned you not to close off the strippers, Coots. You should have listened."

"Hell, boy, they were only giving out four or five barrels a day, and it was costing me fifteen dollars apiece every day to operate them. Show me the sense in that."

"You piss away that much every day on one thing or another," Riley said tersely. "You've been in this business much longer than I have; you should have known better."

"You're going to be in the family soon, son. You should be sharing all that fancy information, that technology stuff you went to school for."

Riley seethed. He wanted to tell the old man what he could do to his anatomy. He and his cronies were the ones who'd said they wanted no part of EOR. Now here he was, old Coots, practically begging for help. Sure, my expertise. Coleman money, that was what he wanted.

"That technology stuff, as you put it, is the only answer from here on in. Every oilman in Texas is sorry he didn't go

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for it. Technology is our only way out. Coleman Oil is hurting, too, just like everyone else."

"Not so's you'd notice," Coots snapped. "Everyone in Texas knows about the Coleman oil leases in Venezuela."

"Then everyone should know they aren't going to do us any good. They'll let us go in, drill, use our expertise, and then refuse to let us ship the oil. I cut my teeth on that story, and it hasn't changed."

"Talk is you have an in down there with those Spies. Ain't that so, Riley?"

"We have leases. I talk to the officials, like everyone else. They promise everything and give nothing. Coleman Oil doesn't have the money to pay out for nothing in return."

"Those Spies don't know how to get the oil out. You do, Riley. Talk is, you're heading that way next week. Why not take me along with you?"

"That's impossible, Coots. Look, I have to get back." He tossed some bills on the table. He'd bet five dollars there would be a message for him sometime during the afternoon from Lacey saying she'd go to South America with him after all. If Coots couldn't go, Lacey would. He wondered if Ivy would tell him not to trust her sister, either.

Outside in the crisp air, Riley took a deep breath. He felt sorry for Coots. There was nothing worse than the look of a defeated old man. Probably the worst thing in the world, because he was too old and too beaten to try again. No oil. The end of the world.

Riley gunned the Ford Bronco and roared out to the highway. His grandmother was coming this weekend. He knew what that meant. An accounting, an up-front confrontation. Tell it like it is, Coleman. If Coleman Oil goes under, so goes Coleman Aviation.

UttMii CHAPTER SEVEN »»»)»

Sawyer sat across from Chesney Brighton, trying to find words that would say something but mean nothing. It was like searching for just the right birthday card for an old lover you wanted to stay in touch with. "Rand and my mother will be

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here tomorrow. I'll arrange a meeting, and the rest is up to you and them," she said.

"It must hurt unbearably," Chesney said softly.

There was no use pretending she didn't understand what Chesney meant. "For a while it was very painful. But I've accepted it, and my life is pleasant, even enjoyable. Rand and Maggie are very happy. I would hate to see that happiness disturbed."

"It won't be disturbed. All I want is to meet my father. I'll leave after I've done that. I'd never force myself on him or your mother. You probably don't understand why I need to do this. ... I never had a family. I don't know what it's like. I don't know how it feels to pick up the phone and call a sister or a brother, any relative. I have none. I've accepted that. All I want is to see him. That's all. He should know I exist. He has that right, and so do I. Someday he might want to get to know me. Then again, his life may be so full, there is no room, now or ever. I can accept that, too. Do you understand?" Soft gray eyes implored Sawyer.

"Of course I understand. More than you'll ever know."

"I've carved out a life for myself. I have a job and nice friends. I have my own flat and a small nest egg. I'm doing all right. It's just that there was a piece missing in my life, and now I've found it. I'm so grateful to you."

"I'm glad I could help."

"What are they like—your mother and my father?"

"They both have the courage of their convictions. They knew what they wanted and weren't afraid to reach out for it. They found each other. They belong together."

"They sound wonderful."

"They are, and I love them very much."

"I should be getting back. If I want to look decent tomorrow, I have to sleep. My flight leaves at sundown."

"You're leaving tomorrow?" Sawyer gasped.

Chesney smiled. "I'm a working girl; I have commitments. And friends I want to get back to. Surely you didn't think I was going to stay on and force myself on my father?"

"Well, no, but... What I mean is ... they're coming all the way here to meet you."

"And meet me they shall. Then I'll leave, and the next move, if there is one, will be my father's. Please, let me pay my share. I insist, Miss Coleman."

In the end Sawyer agreed. "I'll walk you to your hotel and

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then catch a cab to my house," she suggested. "I think this cold air will do us both good. You understand, you are to come to my house at noon tomorrow. Rand and my mother will be there. I'll be at work. If you get a chance, call me before you leave, and if you ever get back here, call me. I'll give you my number in Texas, too, in case your travels take you to the States."

"I'd like that. And if you ever find yourself in England, you call me."

Sawyer smiled. "Don't be surprised if I turn up on your doorstep one of these days." They stood awkwardly facing each other in front of Chesney's hotel.

"I feel as if I've known you for a long time, like you're really a good friend," Chesney said shyly.

"I..." Sawyer paused, unsure of what she felt, what to say. "Good luck tomorrow. Whatever happens, go with it. Understand that it's a shock and they're both going to have to—"

"I understand. Good-bye, Miss Coleman." "I think you can call me Sawyer, don't you?" "I'll call you, Sawyer, and thanks again for everything." "I'm glad I could help. Remember now, call me." On the walk back to the house Sawyer realized she'd meant every word she'd said to Chesney. She was glad she could help, and she looked forward to seeing Chesney again. As she'd found out, you can never have enough friends.

The little Japanese house seemed to crackle with electricity. It was almost noon.

Rand paced the narrow kitchen area, his thoughts far away. For the first time in their married life Maggie realized she was not in sync with her husband. Feeling shut out and alone, she paced behind Rand, bumping into him from time to time. He didn't seem to notice.

"It's a scam of some sort," Rand said. "Something inside me would know if I had a daughter. How could I have a daughter by a woman whose face I don't remember? I'm telling you, it's some kind of scam to extort money out of me. I'm not buying it."

Maggie tried for a gentle tone, but wasn't sure she'd achieved it when she spoke. "Then why are we here? Rand, Sawyer is not an alarmist. She said she believes the girl. Please, for your own sake, keep an open mind. See her and at

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least talk to her. We're here now. I'll help you in any way I can."

It was as if she hadn't spoken. Rand continued his frenzied pacing. Maggie sat down on one of the Western-style chairs Sawyer had brought to the tiny house. All she could do was wait... and listen.

"Most of the girls in the troop were pregnant. I know that doesn't say much for myself or the other pilots, but it was an awful time for the lot of us. We were constantly being pulled back to country, to the DMZ. We never advanced. The strain of flying those choppers, dropping supplies, picking up wounded, looking for POWs, flying low under radar. . . We'd go to Saigon because it was neutral and. .. They were English, some American, and even a few French girls. Then the guy who was the head of the entertainment troop took off, with the girls' wages and their passports. They came on to us even stronger then. I'm not excusing myself. I did what I wanted .. . took what I wanted. We all did, and then we pulled back even further. I knew I'd never see her again. I gave her what money I had. I remember thinking it was a shame she was going to have to go it alone. I did tell her to go to the Red Cross. Later on I could have checked on her, but I didn't. She said she thought she might be pregnant. Honest to God, Maggie, I never thought about her again until Sawyer called us. I blacked it out completely.

"We were back and forth in country. There were no enemy lines, so to speak; the enemy was all over. Guys were dying from five-step Charlie by the dozens. Snakes called green mambas dropped out of trees onto a man, bit him, the man took five steps and died. ... It wasn't a real war, Maggie, it was worse. We couldn't drop bombs, we couldn't really fight back. We were there to protect the people. There were those among us who were worse than Charlie. I blacked that out till now, too. The girls... they were so young. ... They thought they were on a camping trip. The men used them. Most of them got pregnant ..." He let his words hang in midair. Maggie said nothing.

"And as for me giving money to Marion for an abortion, well ... I did give her money, but the word 'abortion' never came up. She wasn't sure. ... I used. .. Goddamn it, I'd remember! She's an impostor!" Rand shouted.

"It was so long ago, Rand. ..."

"It wasn't pretty, Maggie. But I'm making excuses...

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trying to justify ... I'm not sure ... or is it that I am sure and don't want to take the responsibility?"

"I don't know, darling. That was another life, and the rules weren't the same as they are now. I'm here for you, no matter what. The last thing I would ever do is judge you, Rand."

"Bless you, Maggie. You've been a rock these past hours. What time is it?"

Maggie looked at her watch and remembered she was still on Hawaii time. She calculated quickly. 'Two minutes to twelve."

"Christ!"

"Pray that he helps you," Maggie said softly.

The bell at the garden gate tinkled. Rand's eye twitched; that only happened, Maggie knew, when he was under pressure. "I'll go," she said quietly. "Take deep breaths, darling."

All the way down the path Maggie cautioned herself to show no emotion when she swung open the gate. Polite. Don't bring shame on Sawyer or Rand. Or Billie or Thad, or anyone else in the family. She drew a deep, searing breath. She pushed at the gate and waited.

The young woman standing before her smiled. Rand's smile. Rand's eyes. Rand's mouth. Rand's hair color. "Come in; I'm Maggie Nelson, Rand's wife. Of course you're Ches-ney. Come along, it's cold out here." How normal her voice sounded. She knew now. Just as Sawyer had known.

"Darling, this is Chesney," Maggie blurted. The look on Rand's face was shock.

"Mr. Nelson, it was good of you to come all this way to see me. I really appreciate it. May I sit down? I would imagine you have all sorts of questions you want to ask me. I'll do my best to answer them."

Rand's mannerisms. The most direct gaze Maggie had ever seen, with the exception of Rand's.

Rand motioned to a chair. "Why don't you just tell us your story." Looking at the young woman was like looking at his own reflection all those years ago. The same cheekbones. If he dressed her up in his old flight suit, she'd be an exact replica.

Chesney spoke calmly and simply. When she finished, she stood up and began buttoning her coat. "I would hope, Mr. Nelson, that at some time in the future you might want to see me again, so I took the liberty of writing down my address and telephone number for you. Please, I don't want you to say

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anything now that both of us might regret later. I'm going back to England on the afternoon flight. I give you my word that I won't ever try to intrude on your life. I don't even know where you live. As I said, I wanted to see you. I felt I deserved that right and you deserved to know you have a child.

"It was wonderful meeting both of you. I especially want to thank you for not asking me what I want from you. But if you had asked that, my answer would have been, nothing. I just wanted you to know I'm alive. I can see myself out."

"I'll ... I'll show you the way," Maggie stuttered. Clearly, Rand was in no condition to do anything but what he was doing—which was staring.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Nelson," Chesney said as they walked to the gate.

"Yes, Chesney, it was ... my pleasure as well."

"Mr. Nelson is a fine man. Your daughter has such high regard for you both. Perhaps that was the wrong way to express what I wanted to say—she loves you both very much."

"Yes, she does, and we love her."

"Perhaps one day that love will include me."

"Perhaps," was the best Maggie could manage.

Maggie locked the gate and stood for a moment listening to Chesney's heels click as she walked away. She was really leaving. Maggie's shoulders slumped, but only for a moment. She had a husband to take care of.

"Looks don't prove anything," Rand said hoarsely. "For Christ's sake, Maggie, don't you think I would've felt something all these years? A child ... ?"

"Darling, only mothers feel that way. It's that inborn thing women have. I don't think men feel it. Are you denying that Chesney is your daughter?"

"You're damn right I'm denying it. She's a slick one, though, I'll give her that much."

"Then why are you so upset?"

"I'm upset because... because this person dares to come here and upset our lives with ... with false claims."

Maggie swallowed hard. "I don't think that's why you're upset at all. I think you believe her. You said those things happened every day. Now, today, it sounds terrible and you're feeling guilty. I'm glad Chesney's mother didn't have the abortion. I'm glad that beautiful young woman is alive. Every day when I wake up I thank God Mam didn't let me have an abortion. Furthermore," Maggie continued bravely, "I think

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that young woman is exactly who and what she says she is. I don't believe for one minute that she wants anything from you. She didn't even ask for acknowledgment from you."

"She'd damn well never get it!"

Maggie sighed. "Rand, we have to face this together, or it will hang between us, and our lives will be ruined. Denial, my darling, is not truth. Look, she told us who her mother is. We could make discreet inquiries, perhaps even speak to her ourselves and reassure her that we won't disturb her life. We could go to the orphanage. We could check out her employment record. Colleagues are always good references. Her church, her friends. Please, Rand, don't be hasty. Don't do something you'll regret later."

"Mother Maggie."

"Yes, Mother Maggie," she said. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"I'm going for a walk," Rand said, patting her on the head as he passed her. "I need to clear my head. You look tired, Maggie. Take a nice hot bath and a nap. We'll take Sawyer out to dinner this evening."

"That sounds good to me. I'd like it better if you joined me in that tiny tub, though. Just think about how close we could be. No, huh? Okay, take your walk and wake me when you get back if I'm asleep. Oh, Rand, while we're here, let's stop and see Mr. Hasegawa." Anything for normalcy.

"Fine. I won't be that long."

Any other time Rand would have had eyes only for the seaside town of Kamakura. It had been his idea for Sawyer to move here during her stint in Japan. She claimed the ride to work took her twenty-five minutes on a good day and two hours on a bad one.

It was cold now, even though the sun was out. The light jacket and sweater vest wouldn't keep him warm. He should have had the sense to put on his overcoat. Maggie usually reminded him, but she was just as upset as he was.

He should have said something to her, something firm and hard about her acceptance of the girl. Women were so quick to side with other women. Sawyer, too. Two against one. He knew if he never uttered another word about Chesney, they wouldn't either. What had he said? He'd told her to take a hot bath. And she'd played the game and tried to tease him into joining her.

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His wonderful life with Maggie was disturbed now. Even if he did nothing, it wouldn't be the same. Maggie's family would chastise him, since they were so family oriented. Amelia would call him a horse's rear end and remind him that if it hadn't been for her taking him over when he was a child, God alone knew what might have happened to him.

And if he accepted the girl, what would happen then? His life would be even more disturbed. The Coleman clan would be larger by one member. He'd had no experience at being a father; he could never feel like one. He'd missed the growing years, the years when a parent bonded with his flesh and blood. He couldn't simply put his arm around a grown woman he'd never seen before and say welcome home, daughter. She ... Chesney would be a contemporary, not a kid. She'd have opinions, likes and dislikes. Goddamn it, she'd intrude in his life. His and Maggie's life.

Who could he talk to about this? Cary? Warm, generous Cary would tell him to grab the girl and bring her home. Amelia would second him. No, this was something he'd have to come to terms with himself.

The rickety bench along the seawall beckoned him, but he sat down gingerly. He needn't have worried. Years of wear and tons of sand had anchored it firmly. He let his mind shift to the water lapping against the wall. It was dirty and murky. His eyes hungered for the sparkling blue Pacific that was his and Maggie's daily treat. He wondered if Chesney had ever been to Hawaii.

An old Japanese with a yoke on his shoulders approached and pointed to the baskets of fish that balanced it on each side. The old man's eyes were deep-set and sad, his face lined with grooves so deep they could hold a pencil. He was toothless, and his straggly mustache and beard were yellow and dirty. The straw hat that was part of every Japanese villager's attire was set at a jaunty angle, and Rand knew it covered a shiny bald head. Probably a hundred years old. He wondered what he would look like if he lived to be a hundred. Little worry of that. Smoking, liquor, and life in the fast lane had already taken their toll.

"I'll take them all." No old man should have to hustle for a living and carry such a heavy load. The old man didn't appear to understand. Rand waved his hands to make a circle. The old Japanese nodded politely. In a flash he had newspaper out and the fish from both baskets wrapped. Rand didn't even

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bother to count the money he handed over. He knew it was far too much, but he didn't care. Now the old one could go home and sit by the fire. A place he deserved.

An hour later Rand was still on the bench, his thoughts still tortured. His jaw dropped when the old man passed him a second time. His shoulders were as bowed as before, the baskets still as heavy and full of fish. Rand supposed there was a lesson to be learned here. One had to make the effort, had to get up and do each day what he did best. How lonely the old man looked. Rand understood the feeling. He'd never felt so alone in his life.

Guilt. That's what it was all about. He had to be honest with himself. He'd been cock of the walk in those days. A hotshot pilot, a handsome one to boot. Girls danced about him, and he had his pick. He'd always gone for the prettiest, the wittiest, and had his pleasure. And yes, there was one he'd seen more than the others. One who said she thought she might be pregnant. He'd emptied his pockets before he left. Had turned over chocolates, cigarettes, and nylons. Hell, at the time it had seemed he'd got the better of the deal. No conditions, no commitments. And there were no rules.

But what goes around comes around, eh, Nelson? Now this girl, his daughter, walked into his life and threw those same things back at him: no conditions, no commitments, no rules. She'd stated her case and walked away. How could she have done that?

"The same way you did, you son of a bitch!" he shouted into the wind.

I didn't know. I wasn't sure. Wrong, Nelson. You didn't give a good goddamn. You had more missions to fly, more girls to seduce, more liquor to drink. You didn't care! Own up to it, old man, and take what's coming to you.

Guilt. It was going to ride his shoulders like the old man's yoke. It would bend him, but would it break him? "Jesus, I don't know," he muttered.

In the taxi on the way back to her London flat, Chesney heaved a deep sigh. She had a real flesh-and-blood father now, as well as a mother. A mother who wasn't interested in her and a father who wasn't one hundred percent convinced that she belonged to him.

Big Ben struck the hour. It was a comforting sound, one she'd come to take for granted. She wondered how many

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years, months, and days Old Ben had been striking the hour. Someone probably knew, if she was interested enough to pursue the question. Someday she just might do that. Her hands trembled as she searched in her bag for a cigarette. Maybe she should be devoting her time to the present and the future, her own life, instead of anguishing over Rand Nelson, and her mother, and her own sad childhood.

She'd laid down strict rules for herself when she started on her search for her parents: She'd find them, introduce herself, let them know where to find her—and then leave. At first she wasn't going to search for them at all, but the more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself that she had every right to know if she had any living relatives. Suppose one of them might be sickly or crippled, in need of her? That thought, more than anything else, had spurred her on. The rules she set out for herself were necessary because she didn't want what happened to Sara to happen to her.

Sara had been her closest friend at the orphanage. Almost nightly, from the time they were eight years old, they talked late at night about how they were going to try to find their parents someday. Sara was obsessed, confident that her parents were just waiting somewhere for her to make an appearance so they could take her in their arms and weep with joy. Sara worked two jobs to get the money for her search. It had taken her almost three years of following down leads and clues. By the time she found them, she'd worn herself to a frazzle. She'd become stick-thin and her face was set in hard, desperate lines. Her parents, Sara found, wanted no part of her, refusing at first even to acknowledge that they knew each other. Her mother, a tavern waitress, supported six children in a mean, dark flat that smelled of cabbage and urine. Her father, a factory worker with his own brood of children, said he didn't care if she could prove he was her father or not. He had enough mouths to feed and didn't need a bastard kid to boot. And what the hell did she want from him, anyway? He'd told her to go away and find a man to support her.

Chesney had cradled her in her arms and tried to soothe her the way a mother might do, but it wasn't the same. Sara had dreamed of a pretty mother with warm, loving eyes, a woman who would hold her close and say wonderful, endearing words and promise to make up for all the years she'd been lost to her. Instead, a work-weary, slovenly barmaid had sent her packing with harsh words and cold, glittering eyes. She'd

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convinced herself that her father was a businessman, a gentleman who went to a fancy office every day wearing a three-piece suit and carrying an alligator briefcase. He drove a fine car with a lap robe on the backseat. She'd described in detail to Chesney the picnics and shopping trips he'd take her on. He'd dress her like a fashion model and give her tiny pearls, real ones, for her ears. He'd write down the date of her birthday in his appointment book and always remember it. He'd take her to his big house and introduce her to his other children, who would be jealous at first but who would come to love her. He would not be married. He'd had a wife, of course, but she'd met her death tragically. Sara and her father would console each other over brandy after dinner.

Faced with the reality of her parentage, Sara had simply given up. She withdrew into her cubbyhole of an apartment and read family novels.

One day, returning from a three-day flight, Chesney had gone round to her friend's apartment. The door was locked. She'd rapped and shouted for Sara to open up. An unfamiliar but awful odor seeped from under the door. Panic-stricken, she'd run to find the super, who opened the door and then ran back outside. The police and ambulance came while Chesney waited, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She'd paid for the modest funeral, and she alone had stood at the grave and mourned her friend. The medical examiner had said Sara died from natural causes, but he hadn't said what the natural causes were. Chesney knew Sara had died of a broken heart.

She'd packed Sara's meager belongings in a cheap plastic suitcase and taken them back to her apartment. All the papers, all the documents of Sara's long, long search filled two paper bags. She stored them on the top shelf in her closet. Weeks later, on one of her days off, she'd gone through the papers to find the addresses of Sara's parents. She'd written them each a stiff, formal note, informing them of Sara's death. She'd included her address, but she was not surprised when neither of them wrote back.

To be born unwanted and to die unwanted, Chesney decided, was the most awful thing on earth.

It was after Sara's death that she'd made her rules. She would abide by them no matter what.

Her past was behind her and she'd carved out her future, one of her own making. She didn't need Rand Nelson or Mar-

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ion Brighton. She might want them, but she didn't need them.

Chesney paid the driver and ran into her apartment. Frederick, her Persian cat, greeted her by rubbing against her legs. She bent down and scooped him into her arms. How warm and soft he was, almost like a baby. Fred licked her chin and then nuzzled her neck. "Aha, you're hungry. Well, come along and let's see what I can find. But first, I'll put the water on for tea."

Fred, an adoring look on his whiskered face, sat on his haunches and waited patiently for his fish and milk.

The kitchen Chesney bustled around in was tidy and compact. A new stove and refrigerator were recent purchases. She'd found the cane chairs and oak table in a thrift shop. She'd sanded them down and recovered the chair cushions. She'd shellacked the cupboards and laid down the shiny tiles she'd bought. She was proud of her little kitchen, with the African violets on the windowsill and the fern hanging in the corner. The rest of the small flat was just as tasteful. She'd bought one piece of furniture at a time, saving so she could pay cash and not be in debt. For almost a year she'd slept in a sleeping bag until she could afford her brass queen-size bed. She had her own wide-screen telly and a VCR, and she'd recently bought a telephone answering machine. She had almost enough money in the bank for her first car. A daffodil-yellow Lotus. With a car, she could take some of the orphanage children to the country on her days off.