Texas Heat (23 page)

Maggie carried the letter out to the mailbox. The air was cold and damp, and the thin sweater she'd wrapped around her shoulders for the walk down the drive wasn't much protection. But there was also a chill inside her. She felt awful about mentioning Rand to Sawyer in her letter. But she'd had to let her know he was going to be here. Sawyer had to make up her own mind.

Maggie leaned against the mailbox, unconscious of the cold, biting wind. How alone Sawyer must be feeling! How empty. Her heart went out to her daughter; she didn't want to see her hurt. Perhaps in time she'd forget about Rand, find someone else to love. What hope was there for Rand and herself otherwise? Any relationship between them would tear this family apart.

Abruptly Maggie turned and began to run back to the house as though a demon were at her heels. The cold air filled her lungs; her heart pounded. But she couldn't escape the words ricocheting in her head.
What about me? What about me?

“Hey, I'm home! Anyone here?” Sawyer called as she bolted the door behind her. “Guess what. I took off early to cook dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs. I hope you're hungry. I bought all the stuff on my way home. . . . Anyone here?” she called a second time.

Adam groaned. Not ten minutes ago he'd finished a triple-decker sandwich with a side bowl of Franco American something or other. He looked down at the dimples and crevices on the House Speaker's face. The man just wasn't coming alive. Maybe it was the nose, or the hair. ... The hell with it. “I'm here. Did I hear you say you were going to cook? The peanut butter and jelly princess of Austin, Texas?!”

“Come see for yourself.” Sawyer sailed her hat in the general direction of a chair. She flung her coat over another chair and sent her shoes and handbag in different directions.

Adam poked around the mesh bag. “Ahhh, jarred spaghetti sauce! Is this the one with savory herbs and spices that I'll recognize as being better than my grandmother's?”

“Same one. Of course, I'm going to add a few things to it to make it even better. I do know how to cook. It's just not one of my favorite pastimes.”

“What is your favorite pastime?”

“Making love.”

Adam stared at her. “What happened to you today?”

“I don't know. It started this morning when I put on my funky watermelon-colored hat. People stared at me. It was one of those contagious things. They smiled and I smiled. Strange for New York, eh?”

“Very strange. You should wear it every day if it has this effect on you. How long till dinner?” he asked, trying to look hungry.

“An hour, hour and a half at the most. I know you must be starved. I'll hurry.”

“No, don't hurry. Why don't we have a drink while the sauce bubbles, or doesn't it have to bubble since it's from a jar?”

Sawyer peered at Adam's face. “You've eaten, haven't you?”

“A little of this and a little of that. Mostly I picked and nibbled. By ten o'clock I could probably eat a nine-course meal. You could put that time to good use by cleaning the bathroom. It's your turn.”

“I was going to do it tomorrow.”

“That's what you said last week. Once you do the meatballs, you know the rest takes care of itself. I'll do the tub and shower if you do the sink and the floor. I'll flip you for the john.”

“No, you won't. I can handle all of it. Go back to your drawing board. Dinner will be at ten and I get to take the first shower in the clean bathroom.”

“Wipe down the damn walls, will you?”

“Go, go, go.” Sawyer made shooing motions out of the kitchen.

Adam settled himself in front of the drawing board, and within seconds the paper sprang to life. As he worked, his characters took on distinct personalities, and the little quote he finally thought up to give to the House Speaker in the bubble made him chortle. A few more bold strokes, his name scrawled at the bottom, and he'd finished for the day.

“Bathroom's done!” Sawyer called. “I'm going to take a shower. Drain the spaghetti when the timer goes off. We can dine when you pour the wine.”

Adam's stomach rumbled. He wasn't hungry. But he would do justice to this culinary endeavor if it killed him.

Sawyer joined him later wearing a flowing tangerine-colored caftan and high-heeled slipers with fluffy pompoms. She'd applied a light dusting of powder to her face and added some perfume. Adam approved—oh, yes, he approved.

She played the perfect hostess that evening—waited on Adam as if he were the love of her life, inquired if the food was done properly, saw that his wineglass was filled, and kept her dinner conversation lively. He tried to ignore the strain he saw in her blue eyes.

“The least I can do is clean up. Take the wine bottle into the den and put on some good music. I'm too stuffed to do anything but crash out. You outdid yourself tonight, my dear,” Adam said in his best W. C. Fields voice.

“What rest of the wine? We drank it all. You drank most of it.”

“Guilty as charged. We'll simply have to crack open another bottle. Get out of my way while I clean up.” In sixty seconds Adam had the dishes in the sink, the condiments back in the cabinet, and the lid on the spaghetti pot. He whisked the bread crumbs onto the floor, explaining that Marble would clean them up later. By the time he'd placed the bowl of fruit back in the center of the table, Sawyer had uncorked a second bottle of wine.

“Ah, if only this was Dom Perignon.” Adam sighed.

“You're half-buzzed now. Riunite will be just fine. You're lucky it isn't Ripple.”

“I cut my teeth on Ripple. So did you. Don't go getting fancy on me.” Adam grinned.

“We did have fun in those days, didn't we?”

“Things haven't changed all that much,” Adam said as he put his arm around her shoulder. “You're you and I'm me. We grew up a little. Supposedly, we're responsible adults now. Know what? Sometimes I want to be a kid again.”

Sawyer turned. “What you want, what we all want at some point in our lives, is yesterday. To go back and relive the important times. That's what I'd like to do.”

Adam grew serious. “You're talking about Rand, aren't you? Why do you keep torturing yourself? You said it was over.”

“I didn't say that. I did, actually.... What I mean is that's what Rand said. I know he doesn't mean it. It's the age difference. When I see him at Christmas, I think we can patch it up. I know I'm going to try. Whatever I did to upset him will have faded and we'll be able to talk and straighten it out.”

“What if it doesn't work?” Adam asked quietly.

“It has to work! I can't see myself going on without him. He loves me; I know he does. We . . . we just have a problem, and we're going to work it out.”

“Maggie?”

Sawyer's face colored. “I'm ashamed of myself, Adam. How could I have thought such a thing just because I saw Rand and Maggie talking?
Talking
, for God's sake! I know I've always said Maggie was a man-eater, but I was just blowing off steam. Sometimes she made me so mad I couldn't think of anything horrible enough to say about her. I must've been crazy to think she set out to snatch Rand from me. Maggie just wouldn't do anything like that!”

“Well said, well said.”

“For God's sake, she's my mother! Besides, Rand is too decent, too much of a gentleman, to do anything so . . . so . . .”

“Shitful?”

“Yes, damn it, yes!”

“Hey! Cool down. I'm agreeing with you.” He poured from the bottle a second time. By now his eyes were glassy and he had to keep blinking in order to focus.

“I have it all planned. I know exactly what I'm going to say,” Sawyer told him, her voice slurring a bit. “I'll make sure it's at just the right time. I've rehearsed it a hundred different times. It really is true, that old saying ... if you want something bad enough, you can get it if you keep trying.”

“Sawyer, I don't want to see you set yourself up for another disappointment.”

“Don't look at me that way! There's pity in your eyes!” Suddenly, she covered her face with her hands; her sobs came in great choking heaves.

“No, no, there's not,” Adam said, alarmed. He crept closer to her, taking her into his arms. “My heart is breaking for you, Sawyer, but that's not the same thing as pity, is it?”

She buried her face in the crook of his neck. He could feel her body shuddering, shaking with the force of her sobs racking through her delicate bones and heating her flesh. Too much wine, too little control, and Sawyer was fragmenting into tiny shards, each of them stabbing his heart.

He held her for a long time. When at last it seemed her tears were exhausted, he carried her to bed as though she were a child. She felt so light, almost weightless; he wondered how many meals she'd skipped, how much weight she'd lost. Could a person truly die of a broken heart?

He placed her gently on her bed and pulled the comforter up around her shoulders. She was so still, so silent, he thought she was asleep. Just as he was about to leave, she reached for his hand. “Don't leave me, Adam. Please. I don't think I can bear to be alone. Hold me. Just hold me.”

Adam lay down beside her, cradling her in his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder; he could feel her warm breath on his neck. “I'll hold you, honey. Forever, if I have to. Sleep, try to sleep.”

“You're good, Adam, so good.”

Through the night he held her, calming her night tortures when she stirred and soothing the little sobs that erupted without warning.

He loved her. And if she couldn't love him in return, then it would have to be enough that she needed him.

When Adam awoke in Sawyer's bed next morning, she
was already up and moving around. He cracked an eyelid open and followed her progress across the loft to the bathroom. He heard the rush of water and the now familiar rattle of the aspirin bottle.

Adam lay quietly, trying not to think of the interminable night through which he'd held her, soothed her, his own heart breaking with the futility of it all. He'd calmed tears shed for another man when all the while he wanted her for himself.

When the shower stopped, he burrowed a little deeper into the covers. Sawyer came back into her room and selected several items from her closet. Back in the bathroom the blow-dryer whined. He could get up, he thought, see to it that she had some breakfast—but he wasn't certain what kind of reception he'd receive. The last thing he wanted was for Sawyer to be shy and ashamed of having needed his comfort during the night. Would she be embarrassed that she'd bared her soul to him? That the bravado she'd been trying to exhibit had crumbled into a thousand pieces, leaving her so vulnerable?

Adam's eyes snapped shut. Sawyer was on the move again. The scent of her perfume trailed behind her, seeming to settle near the bed. When the scent localized, he knew she was staring down at him; he could hear her breathing. “Sleep well, dragon slayer,” she whispered as she kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you.”

When the door to the loft closed, he brought his finger to his lips.

Today was a work day, Adam tried to convince himself, not that he had any ideas. He didn't feel like working. He didn't want to work. What he wanted to do was impose on an old friend who was a practicing psychiatrist and talk to him about Sawyer. Six-thirty in the morning wasn't too early. Nick would grumble and complain, but he'd come through. That's what friends were for.

“What do you mean you're still sleeping?” Adam asked with mock indignation. “You told me and everyone else you know that you run through Central Park at six in the morning. Five miles!”

“So I lied. I run around the apartment at seven o'clock. Same thing.” The sleepy voice groaned. “It's a sin to call someone this early.”

“I need to talk to you, Nick. It's important. How about stopping by before the office and I'll make us some breakfast.”

Nick's voice was suddenly brisk, almost professional. “What's wrong? You sound okay. This won't be for free, you know.”

“It's Sawyer. She needs some help.”

“If she needs help, why isn't she calling me instead of you? She'd at least have the decency to wait till seven thirty. You can't save the world and everyone in it, Adam. When are you going to get that through your head?”

“The same time you do. Who do you think you're kidding? I know how you spend your free time. You're the biggest savior of all. We have to try.”

“You're a pain in my butt, Jarvis. I want eggs Benedict, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a side order of home fries. Real ones.”

“If I do that, I don't want a bill.”

“Fine. Swear to me you'll send a hundred fifty dollars to the YMCA Children's Camp Fund.”

“You son of a bitch, is that how much you get an hour?” Adam squawked.

“Someone has to pay for my Park Avenue address. I'll see you in forty-five minutes.”

“Eggs Benedict and home fries, my ass!” Adam fumed as he stormed around the kitchen. He was just rinsing the last vestiges of shaving cream from his face when Nick Deitrick banged on his door.

Nick was round, a one-size-fits-all type body type. He had a trusting, compassionate gaze, pink cheeks, and a winsome smile that endeared him to his patients. No one who wanted to remain his friend ever referred to his encroaching male pattern baldness.

“At least you could have put out the ketchup to kill the taste,” he grumbled. “What did you fry these eggs in, and why are they brown like this? I never saw eggs this color.”

“The butter burned. I never said I was a cook. How are the fries?”

“Don't ask. Talk while I eat. I can do two things at the same time, unlike some people I know.”

Nick studied his friend as he talked. The man looked terrible, like the life was being drained out of him. And Nick knew why.

“Sawyer's been here since July, as you know,” Adam said, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “She was pretty heavy into a relationship with this English dude. He used to be an RAF jet pilot and he tested the Coleman Aviation plane. You remember that?” Nick nodded. “She had herself convinced they were going to get married. Over the Fourth this guy, Rand, broke it off with her and she came here. There's another problem. It's possible that Sawyer's mother, Maggie, and this guy Rand might have something going. When Sawyer first came here, that's what she thought; now she's convinced it's not true, or at least she
says
she is. I'm worried about her. She looks like a ghost. She's lost weight; she works sixteen hours a day; she gets these headaches all the time.

She doesn't seem able to throw off her depression. Last night she told me that she's going back to Texas for Christmas and Rand will be there. She's convinced she's going to make things right between them.”

Nick chewed his toast and swallowed his coffee. “Aside from playing big brother in all of this, what's your interest?”

“I love her, Nick. You've always known that.”

Nick nodded. “What Sawyer is going through is normal and natural. Everyone has a time clock for grief, and she is grieving, you know. Depression is usually triggered by a loss of some kind: a mate, a lover, a job. When you have to face a loss, you feel lost. Sawyer was pulled up short, stopped in her tracks. The thread of continuity in her life snapped. Are you following me? Sawyer's life wasn't ever smooth to begin with; you've told me the story.”

“But this isn't like Sawyer,” Adam protested. “She should be coming out of it a little. Instead, she's planning and scheming ways to get Rand back. She won't let go.”

“And of course you want her to let go so you can step in,” Nick said quietly.

Adam leaned across the table. “Yes, that would be nice, but I don't bank on it. Sawyer had plenty of opportunities to have me if she wanted me; she didn't, and I'd be a fool to think she would now.”

“But you're hoping.”

Adam stood up abruptly, toppling his chair backward. “Yes, dammit, I'm hoping!” he cried, slamming his fist on the table in an uncharacteristic display of rage. “But I'm afraid for her. I know she's on the ragged edge, and she's basing everything on Christmas. What if it doesn't work out? What happens to her then? What if she wasn't off base about something going on between this dude and her mother?”

“I could reel off a lot of medical jargon, but I won't. Sawyer's loss is challenged. It was forceful, unexpected, and right now she probably can't imagine her life without Rand. In her depression she's mourning the loss of that someone who gave meaning to her life. She should be searching for a replacement so she can build on her loss. But before she can do that, she has to accept the end of the relationship.... I should be talking to her, not you,” Nick grumbled.

“Are you saying it's okay for her to go back home over Christmas and try again? That maybe it'll show her the relationship is really over so she can go on from there?”

Nick shrugged. “Like I said, I should be talking to her, not you.”

Adam raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, Nick, I need to understand. I might be able to get through to her and even get her to go see you.”

“Fine, but I suspect it won't be easy. It's hard to come to terms with a loss. Sawyer is probably thinking that to go on without Rand is being disloyal to her own ideals as well as to him. Silly? Incongruous?” Nick smiled. “Yeah, I know, but that's the way it is. Some people take longer than others. You can't measure love with a yardstick.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Be her friend. Be there for her. Try to get her to seek professional help. It can shorten the grieving. Many of us need to be given permission to let go of the past.”

“I appreciate this, Nick. I should have made you a decent breakfast.”

“Forget it. Nick wiped his chin and swallowed the cold dregs of his coffee. He reached out with pudgy pink hands to grip Adam's long, slender fingers. ”Sawyer is a survivor. Remember that.”

“I'll try. Christmas is looming like a monster for me now. I was going to Vermont to ski, but now ...”

“Go!” Nick was as concerned about Adam as Adam was about Sawyer. If his friend wasn't careful, he might end up in Sawyer's shoes, suffering the same kind of loss. He sighed. “And call me if there's anything I can do, will you?”

Adam smiled. “Thanks, Nick.”

“Anytime. Don't forget about the YMCA.”

“It's done.”

Sawyer sat at her desk rubbing her eyes, trying to massage away her headache. It was only eight-ten and most of the staff was just straggling in. She'd made the coffee, picked up the Danish on her way to work, and was contemplating the rest of the day. In order to face it, she had to look back at the long, long night.

She had used Adam. Eagerly taken the comfort he'd offered and given nothing in return. But in truth, she'd do it all over again if it meant she could get through another long, lonely night. It was the nights that were impossible to bear, when memories and dreams chased sleep like the demons they were. She'd slept more last night than. she had in months. And when she'd stirred, Adam was there to comfort her.

Adam. She loved him—in a special way. Was that what Rand meant when he'd said he loved her but wasn't in love with her? No, no, it was different with Rand. They'd been lovers; they'd shared something she had never shared with Adam. Maybe she was being selfish, using Adam this way, but she couldn't help it. Anything was better than this madness; anything was better than being alone with the emptiness and broken dreams.

Sawyer shuffled some papers on her desk, and a red-and-blue TWA ticket holder slid across her desk. She was supposed to go to Hong Kong at the end of the week! How could she have forgotten such an important trip?

Grandpap's fuel-efficient, small-scale jet plane, christened the
Coleman Condor
by Billie, was slowly but surely creeping toward full-scale production. It was an important project, one that could secure the Coleman family fortunes. So, even though Sawyer was primarily an aeronautical engineer, she had undertaken to see personally to every detail of its completion. In Hong Kong she would be supervising the purchase of quality fabric and the manufacture of the
Condor's
luxury-detailed seats and overhead liners.

One glance at her appointment book told her she was going to be on the run up until it was time to board the plane. Three-and-a-half weeks in Hong Kong was a long time. Perhaps she should write the boys before she left-or, better yet, call them.

Sawyer asked for an outside line, and in seconds she heard Martha's voice telling her to hold on. When Cole's voice boomed over the wire, she slid the phone away from her ear. She'd forgotten how deep and loud the boy's voice was. “It's Sawyer, Cole. I'm sorry about calling so early, but I wanted you to know I'm going to Hong Kong in a few days. I'm behind on my letter writing. I didn't want you worrying about me or trying to call.”

“Hong Kong! I wish I could go. Grandmam Billie said it's a wonderful place to visit.”

“It is, but this is business. How about next summer? I can probably arrange my vacation to coincide with whenever you're free. Work on it. It'll give us both something to look forward to.

“What's going on at Sunbridge? How's school? Keeping your marks up? How's the football team doing?”

“School's okay. My grades are A's and the football team is undefeated. It's because of Riley,” he said grudgingly. “I think he's going to make the all-stars.”

“Does that bother you? The truth now.”

“Sure it bothers me. He does everything great. The coach says he's a natural for football and any other sport, for that matter. I can't hack sports. He even snagged the best-looking girl, and she's captain of the cheerleading squad, for his date at the dance. Every guy in school has the hots for her. I don't know how he did it.”

“By being nice, probably. He is a nice kid, and so are you. You guys could have made a great team. I wish you'd work on it, Cole. Jealousy is an awful thing to have to deal with.”

“Mother is on my back all the time about it. By the way, Rand is here.” He heard the deadly stillness come over the wire and wished he could cut his tongue out. “He brought Aunt Susan here. She's sick, or it's something about the baby. Mother says she looks awful,” Cole babbled. “He's not staying. In fact, I think he's leaving tomorrow.”