Texas Heat (24 page)

“It's okay, Cole. You don't have to make explanations to me. And you're right; it does hurt. I haven't heard from him at all.”

“He's a bastard, if you want my opinion. He's on mother's tail no matter where she goes. I watch them. Aunt Amelia chewed him out the other day. I heard him tell that to Mother. Aunt Susan keeps watching them, too. Riley ... well, it's hard to tell with Riley, but I think he stares at the two of them a lot.” Another deadly silence.

“Listen, do you want me to say anything to him? Cole said desperately. ”Give him a message or tell him about your trip?”

Sawyer could feel a sob building in her throat. She had to get off the phone. “No, no, don't say anything. I-I have to get back to work now, Cole. And you better get off to school before you're late. I'll send you a postcard from Hong Kong,” she said hoarsely. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too. Goody-bye.”

Cole looked at the telephone for a long time. His eyes spewed anger as he made his way to the dining room and saw his mother and Rand at the table, laughing and eating together like an old married couple.

“Cole! You're going to be late!” Maggie warned.

“I've got a study hall first period. Don't you care if I eat or not?”

“Of course I care. I thought you ate with Riley. He's gone.”

“My plate is next to yours. Does it look like I. ate?” Cole asked snidely as he filled his plate with scrambled eggs. He jerked his head in Rand's direction. “What's he still doing here?” It pleased him to see Rand's lips tighten.

“What do you mean, what's he doing here? Rand brought Susan home.”

“She's been home for two days and he's still here. Don't tell me—he's holding her hand. Oops, wrong again. It's your hand he's holding,” Cole said coldly. “Isn't that right, Mother?”

“That's enough! Apologize.”

“To who for what?” Cole asked with his mouth full.

“To Rand.”

“He doesn't deserve an apology. I don't think he belongs here. A few other people don't think he belongs here, either.” He stood up abruptly. “Well, I have to get going so I don't miss my second class.” At the doorway he turned and asked, “Just when
are
you leaving, Rand?”

Goddamn little monster, Rand thought. Sawyer's champion. But how could he blame Cole for trying to protect his sister?

“Soon,” he said.

“How soon?” Cole shot back.

“Will tonight be quick enough for you?”

“No, but if that's the best you can do, then do it. We don't need you here, none of us.”

Maggie got up from her chair, her face drained of all color. “I don't want to hear another word out of you, Cole. We'll discuss this tonight.”

“Before or after the Earl of Wickham leaves?” Cole said before stamping from the room.

Maggie stood silent for a long time, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin raised in defiance. “Goddamn you, Rand. Why didn't you break it off with Sawyer when she was in California? Why here, where for some reason everyone believes it's my fault? My God, I can't even defend myself. Cole believes we're having an affair. He probably told Sawyer and Mam and anyone else who would listen. He's absolutely right; you have to leave—the sooner the better.”

“I do want to have an affair with you. It's all I've been thinking about. Admit it—you've been thinking the same thing!” Accusation met accusation; Maggie stormed from the room and Rand felt like a dog.

Susan was holding on to the banister as she descended the stairs. She looked a little better; at least there was some life in her eyes. Rand met her halfway up.

“Late for breakfast again,” she said. “I'm ravenous. And I'm going to eat.”

“Good girl. You'll be feeling better in no time at all. Well, you better get along before Martha clears the sideboard. I've got some packing to do.”

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“There are those among us who think I've overstayed my welcome. Just out of curiosity, what do you think?”

Susan stared at this man she'd known practically all her life. He was like a big brother, an uncle, almost a father image. She loved him and was grateful for the many kindnesses he'd done her over the years. She tried to choose her words carefully. “I think, Rand, that you should return to England, not because of what anyone thinks or feels, but because this isn't the right time. Sawyer's one of us. It always comes down to that in one way or another, us versus them. Right now, you're one of them. We Colemans have a tendency to close ranks. You saw it happen with Jerome. Maggie is vulnerable right now.”

“And you think I'd take advantage of that, do you?”

“Not deliberately. Maggie can't keep her eyes off you. I noticed you have trouble in that department yourself. There's a ghost between you. For God's sake, Rand, Sawyer is Maggie's daughter! You understand that, don't you?”

“Only too well. What would happen, Susan, if I told you I loved Maggie and she loved me? What would all you Colemans do then?”

Susan shook her head slowly. “I don't know. I suppose we'd have to wait and see. I know what Sawyer must be going through. She loved you, Rand. She thought you were going to marry her. Now, Sawyer is not a stupid woman. She must have gotten that impression somehow. You've hurt her terribly, Rand. Her Coleman pride prevents her from letting you know just how much.”

“Would you want me to marry Sawyer if I wasn't in love with her?”

Susan's puffy eyes were cold now, heartless. “You made the decision. You didn't give her a chance. You just ripped out her guts and walked away.” She brushed past him, then turned abruptly, almost losing her balance. “Can I ask you something, Rand?” He nodded. “Did Sawyer ever say the age difference bothered her?”

“No.”

“Did she ever say she wanted children?”

“Not in so many words. All women want children.”

“Did she ever say she could be just as happy with you without children?”

“In words to that effect,” Rand said harshly. “If you're trying to make me feel guilty, you don't have to bother. I feel terrible.”

“It wasn't a mutual ending. She didn't have anything to say about it. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment.”

“You're right; she didn't. I'm not disagreeing with you. But I'm not apologizing, either.”

“Maybe you should,” Susan said softly, and turned away.

Up in his room, Rand flopped miserably on the bed. He lay for a long time with his hands laced behind his head, his thoughts racing. Right? Wrong? If he had it to do over again, would he do it any differently?

There had been a time in his life when people's opinions hadn't bothered him. Now that he was older, it was important to him what other people thought. Billie and Thad were at the top of the list. And Amelia. He didn't want them thinking he was a bastard. If something wasn't right, it wasn't right. Did he have to be miserable to make someone else happy? But then again, did he have the right to make someone else miserable?

Poor Sawyer, what had he done to her? The answer was so terrible, he rolled over on the bed. One clenched fist pounded the pillow. He'd destroyed her. He knew it as sure as he knew he had to take another breath. Beautiful, wonderful Sawyer. And he was itching and lusting for Maggie. Jesus.

Rand rolled back over and stared at the ceiling. There was no way he could make things right. What was done was done. He, Sawyer, and Maggie were going to have to live with it.

Her scent arrived before she did. Rand opened his eyes in surprise to see Maggie in front of the closed door.

“Are you leaving?” she asked in a strange voice.

“I didn't hear anyone asking me to stay. I'm some kind of bloody pariah now. Susan just laced into me coming up the stairs. Cole hates me and does his best to make it known. Riley can barely tolerate me. My own mother told me where to get off. You've pushed me away. And you want to know if I'm leaving? I'm sorry I came.”

“I'm not. I felt so happy with you here. It's almost as though you belong.” .

“I don't belong here. Sawyer's ghost lives here.”

Maggie's eyes spewed fire. Her lips trembled and she clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists. “It's always Sawyer. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, she's between me and whatever it is I want. I can't get away from her. I've always been jealous of her. She was given what should have been mine. If it had been mine from the beginning, I never would have become a roadside whore at the age of fourteen and she never would've been born !”

“Maggie, Maggie, you don't know what you're saying .”

“Oh, don't I? Don't I?” She crossed the room and loomed over him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, alarmed at her sudden intrusion, overwhelmed by her fury. “She even had you, damn her, she even had you!” Enraged and provoked by his feeble attempt to soothe her, Maggie attacked, pummeling him with the heels of her hands, beating him in her madness; all the while, hot tears streamed down her face, heaving sobs erupted in her throat.

Rand caught her against him, throwing her onto the bed beside him, attempting to control her struggles with his weight. Bit by bit her fury passed, leaving her exhausted and miserable. He smoothed the silky dark hair back from her forehead, crooning to her, comforting her. “Cry, Maggie. Cry for the both of us.”

She looked up at him, a curious little expression in her eyes, as though she were seeing him there for the first time. “I don't want to cry! I want to make love to you!” At the edge of her tone was a trace of desperation.

Rand covered her mouth with his own, pulling her body against his. Yes, yes, Maggie was thinking. Yes, make love to me now, while I'm still angry enough to go through with it, while I don't give a damn about anyone or anything except what I want.

As Maggie surrendered herself to Rand's loving, her wild thoughts scurried like mice in a maze. She told herself she wanted Rand; she even believed she loved him. She was Maggie; not Billie, who had made a career of self-sacrifice until her commitment to her family was completed. Life was too short to be so good and noble. Life was too empty and it was hard to be alone.

Alone. Alone. The word echoed in her brain. She focused on it, allowing all the rage, jealousy, and resentment to fall aside. Only the guilt remained. But it's only for now, Maggie told herself, only for this little while. She'd come into Rand's room blind with rage. She was maddened with herself that she was sending Rand away and out of her life, and yet, ridiculously, she was angry with him that he'd hurt Sawyer. Absurd, ludicrous, and even lunatic, but that's the way it was.

Rand was reveling in the feel of Maggie's arms clinging to him. This was what he'd been dreaming of for months. This was what had kept him awake and miserable all those long, lonely nights. To be with her, to hold her in his arms this way, to know she felt the same way about him. All the notes and letters, the telephone conversations, ways to get to know her. Seeing her here at Sunbridge, knowing her concern for family, all these things brought her closer to him. Even Cole, who never missed an opportunity to be difficult and unloving; Maggie loved the boy. Her devotion to Riley, her understanding with Susan, even the rage with which she'd first entered his room. All these things were a part of Maggie and he loved her.

In his arms he held a woman who had tested life and had come to know herself. She wasn't a child who believed love could overcome any obstacle. Experience and maturity, those were a part of Maggie, too. And now he wanted to become a part of her, to share with her, be understood by her and, in turn, to understand her. This Maggie, his Maggie.

His lips seemed to devour her, nipping gently at her throat and falling lower between her breasts. Eager fingers, greedy for the feel of his skin, lifted the bottom of his sweater, exploring the expanse of his back, the solidness of his muscles, the width of his shoulders. Fury still pounded through her blood. She wanted Rand in spite of herself, in spite of Sawyer's pain and what might be ahead of them.

Maggie became immersed in Rand's kisses, allowing his gentle, unhurried touch to calm her roiling emotions. Again and again his mouth came down on hers, sometimes softly and at other times with a sense of desperation, as though he believed she might slip through his arms like a vaporous dream. He seemed to sense that she wanted him to take her quickly, because he murmured, “Slow, Maggie, slow. I want it to last. Make it last.”

His movements were unhurried and controlled, arousing her, allowing her to put everything behind her and to concentrate only on him. Her heart was beating randomly; all her senses awakened, responding to him, becoming acutely aware of his touch on the fullness of her breasts and of the heat that was generating at her center. He undressed her—slowly—unwrapping her as though she were a long-awaited gift, discovering her inch by inch and always smoothing or kissing her newly exposed skin.

When she lay naked upon his bed, he undressed himself beneath her heated gaze. Her eyes were drawn to the masculine slope of his shoulders, the flat of his belly, and the firm globes of his buttocks. Fine golden hairs furred his chest, and when he stepped closer, the light from the window revealed the integration of silver among the gold.

He lay down beside her and she moved easily into his arms, pressing herself against him. She nuzzled the delicate skin at the base of his neck, tickled her lips against his crisp chest fur, inhaled the spicy clean scent of his shower soap, aware of the presence of his own male scent beneath.