Texas Heat (46 page)

“I wish you weren't alone. I don't like being alone. That's why I'm so glad Ferris is in my life.” Susan hesitated, then said shyly, “Maggie, he's asked me to marry him once I'm divorced.”

“Oh, Suse! If it's what you want, I'm happy for you,” Maggie said sincerely. “Any news on Jerome?”

“Nothing. But I really haven't tried. I guess I'm afraid to confront him. Remember how Rand used to say that I'd avoid nastiness and ugliness at any cost? Well, I suppose he's right.”

“But what if it means losing Ferris? Are you willing to pay that kind of price?”

“No. But I don't have the stomach for making hundreds of calls to Europe to track him down. And our agent doesn't want to cooperate with me. He's a greedy bugger, and since I'm not making money for him, he has no use for me.”

“You could always try Valentine Mitchell. She could set some bloodhounds on Jerome's trail. She's got the knack, all right.”

“I suppose that would solve my problem. But I'm still worried about you, Maggie. Are you sure you don't mind being alone?”

“Suse, I've been alone most of my life. Sometimes you can be alone with yourself without being lonely.” Before Susan could reply, Maggie said, “Kiss Jessie for me and tell the boys I love them and am counting on them.”

“I will. Enjoy.”

Maggie hung up the phone and stared morosely out the window. She ached to hear Rand's voice; her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. She pulled the phone closer and placed a call to England.

The phone rang and rang. There were tears in her eyes when she replaced the receiver. The tears stayed with her until she fell asleep in the blue bedroom.

 

Rand sat across from Amelia in the sunny breakfast nook. Outside the open window the daffodils and tulips were making a grand show against the verdant lawn. The rosebushes were in bud, their droopy little heads hinting at the color that would soon arrive if this dazzling May sunshine continued. The hedgerow bordering the path was already in need of a second trim, and the birds splashed in the puddles left by Amelia's early-morning watering.

Rand smiled at his mother. “I haven't seen you look this well in a long time. I'm trying to decide what you've done to yourself. I know you've put on some weight, but that's not what it is, exactly. Would you care to satisfy my curiousity?”

Amelia leaned across the table. “I think it's called coming to terms with oneself. You look rather well yourself. Maybe we're kidding ourselves, and it's really this clean fresh air and sleeping with the windows wide open.”

“I'm leaving this afternoon,” he said abruptly. “I'll drive to London and then take the Concorde to New York.”

“I know. I'm glad for you, Rand.”

“What about you, Mother? Are you ready to go back with me?”

“Do you want an answer this second?”

“Before noon; that's when I'm leaving. Be certain, though.” Amelia nodded. “I'll clean up the dishes,” he said. “Why don't you take a walk, do some thinking? I know you could be packed in ten minutes.”

“Yes, I could, but it isn't time for me to go back. You do what's right for you. Are you going to Sunbridge?”

“No, Hawaii.” Quickly, he filled Amelia in on his plans. “I don't know if she'll have me, but I'm going to give it another try. It feels right.”

“Go for it,” Amelia said forcefully.

“You know, I could set down in Austin and see Cary.”

“No. I have to work out my own problems. I don't need or want you to run interference for me.”

“Okay. I hope you know what you're doing.”

“I hope so, too. You go along and have a good trip. Give Maggie my love.”

“Before or after I give her mine?” Rand chuckled.

“Before. She won't be interested later.”

For all her bright, savvy attitude, Rand knew Amelia had been hurting for a long time. When Cary hadn't followed her to England, some of the heart had gone out of her. She looked now, though, as if that heart were making a comeback. Her face smoothed out somehow, lost its tight, nervous look. She moved calmly, gracefully, as though she were seeing things from a new perspective. Out of the rat race, she was the Amelia he had loved since he was a toddler.

Long after Rand left, Amelia sat on the country porch, surrounded by early spring blooms. She'd lugged the crocks from the quarry and filled them herself with bright petunias, daisies, and pansies. From the high ceiling she'd hung clay pots filled with luxuriant ferns and grape-ivy. She sipped at her tea, her thoughts on Cary.

She'd been so sure he would come after her. For all of two weeks she'd been sure. Then, when she'd finally realized he wasn't going to follow her, she'd done some hard soul-searching. And in those first weeks without him, as she'd cleaned the country house and started her garden, she'd come to understand something that had evaded her all of her life: she didn't belong to anyone but herself. She realized she'd slavishly embraced all Cary's hopes and dreams as if they were hers, never bothering to find out what it was
she
wanted. The house she'd been renovating was one of her biggest, costliest mistakes. It was a decoy, something to make her feel needed, important. Something for her to suck on, like a pacifier, while her life line was otherwise occupied.

How was it possible for one person to be so unhappy, so unsatisfied, so filled with low self-esteem? She thought of all the surgery she'd had done to retain an illusion of youth. To compete. Now she knew she'd only been fooling herself.

Once she'd reconciled herself to the fact that Cary wasn't coming after her, she'd felt better. And she realized now that if he had, she might never have learned anything about herself. Billie had told her at their last meeting that she had to have faith in herself and who she was, or no one else would. “It comes from within,” Billie had whispered. “You have to dig down, way down, and get rid of all the clutter and garbage. Do it, Amelia.”

Amelia was almost ready now to go back and set her various houses in order. First she'd finish decorating her mother's house. It was a symbol of the past, and she should never have bought it—but she had, and this was one project she was going to complete. Then she'd move from Sunbridge; she had never been happy there. Why she'd thought Cary would make a difference was something she was still trying to come to terms with.

She'd loved him with her heart and soul. He'd loved her, too—she'd had enough love affairs in her life to know the difference between love and lust and passion.

Cary had seen into her soul, something she'd never allowed herself to do. She'd opened up, given of herself, because she loved him. And he hadn't abused that generosity.
She
was the one who'd destroyed it. She'd let Cary see her soul, then hadn't trusted him to nurture it.

But things were different now. She'd changed. She felt rested for the first time in her life. The cares and pressures she'd imposed on herself had dropped away shortly after she'd arrived here, in this peaceful place. She'd learned she had no one to account to but herself. She was sleeping, thank God, although every night Cary made a guest appearance in her dreams. She welcomed her pillow at night and the familiarity with her subconscious. She was on the mend. Soon, another week or so, and she'd be ready to go back to Texas. And knew now, hoped really, that if she went back to Sunbridge, Cary wouldn't see the ten pounds—or was it twelve?—she'd put on or the fine networking of wrinkles that were coming back. He wouldn't see the natural gray streaks in her hair or the fact that she wasn't hiding behind a mask of makeup.

Amelia smiled, a genuine expression of contentment came from deep within. Even her eyes smiled. Her right index finger caressed the wide gold band on her finger, loving symbol of her marriage to a wonderful man. Now maybe she could make it work.

She looked at her watch. Rand should be in London by now. In four hours he'd touch down in New York, and then his life would really take on meaning. There was no envy in her. Rand deserved happiness, and if Maggie was the one to give it to him, so much the better. Soon it would be her turn.

If it wasn't too late.

This time Rand felt as though Kennedy Airport were wel
coming him on this, the first leg of his journey. Even the expected delay, circling before they could land, didn't annoy him. What did a few moments matter when he had an entire lifetime ahead of him?

He took a taxi to town and got out on the corner of Forty-first and Third. He paid the driver and turned around to get his bearings. He couldn't believe his luck when a block later he saw Sawyer swinging toward him. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as people jostled and cursed at him. Sawyer, too, stopped in her tracks, a look of confusion on her face. She advanced a step as though she intended to go by without acknowledging him; then she stopped. “Hello, Rand,” she said, her voice cool, indifferent.

“Hello, Sawyer. I was heading for your apartment. Where are you going?”

“To the market. Why were you looking for me?”

“To talk to you.”

Sawyer stared at this man, whom she loved. Who once claimed he loved her. How long ago that seemed now! All the words had been said. What did he want—absolution like Maggie? “We can get a cup of coffee over there.” Sawyer pointed across the street to a sign that claimed Mike served the best coffee in the state of New York. It was a lie, of course; the coffee was rancid and tasted as though the pot had never been cleaned. But neither of them noticed.

Rand removed his sunglasses. Sawyer kept hers on. Looking at him through the brown glass somehow made it bearable.

“I wanted to talk to you, face-to-face,” he said. “I have something to tell you, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“That's assuming I want to hear what you have to say. Obviously, you have me confused with someone who gives a damn.”

Rand blinked. She sounded like she was talking about the weather or making casual conversation with one of her friends. “What I want you to know is I'm going to ask Maggie to marry me. I'm hoping she'll say yes.”

“Why wouldn't she? She wins—the whole ball of wax. Why tell me? That's your business and Maggie's.”

Rand wished he could see behind the dark glasses. He didn't want to hurt her. God, he'd never do that, not intentionally. He struggled to find the right words, knowing it was impossible. “Maggie sent me away. She said it was best. I was angry . . . much the way you were, I suppose. I know how much I must have hurt you. Sawyer, I'd do anything for you. You know that. And I do love you, but it isn't the same. Your feelings for me—”

“Were wasted time on my part. It should be obvious to you, as it is to me, that I lowered my standards. You fit right in there with the love of your life.”

“Don't, Sawyer. Please don't . . .”

“Don't what, Rand? Why is everyone so concerned about how I feel? Breathing down my back, saying love is love and you and Maggie deserve to be happy. Now that I'm going to die, no one knows quite what to say. They all dance around it, trying to appease Maggie and me at the same time. My grandmother gave her seal of approval to your affair, and that's all that was needed. So you see, you really came here to make
you
feel better. Only I'm not interested in how
you
feel or how
Maggie
feels or how my
grandmother
feels. I have nothing to give any of you.”

“I don't want anything, Sawyer. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Well, don't bother to invite me to the wedding. I might not be around.”

Anger sparked in Rand's eyes. “I'm not going to pretend I don't know about your illness. I'm disappointed, though. I thought you had more guts than that. Maggie said you didn't, but I didn't believe her. Billie told Amelia about the operation you refuse to risk. How can you . . . just give up? Any kind of chance is better than none. Reach for the brass ring! You have nothing to lose and your whole life to gain.” He reached across the table and removed the polished sunglasses. Then, speaking very slowly, deliberately, he said, “You're a taker, Sawyer. You don't know how to give.”

 

It was almost dusk when Rand drove past the big banyan tree on Ester Kamali's estate. It was beautiful, breathtaking. The rental car took the last rise to the end of the drive. He felt himself trembling as he removed the keys from the ignition. The thought he'd been trying to avoid throughout the entire trip would no longer be denied. What if Maggie didn't want him? He hadn't heard from her since he'd left Sunbridge just after the first of the year. His nerves were jangling, spidery tingles creeping close to the surface of his skin. He walked across the soft green fur carpet to the house and rang the bell. When there was no answer, he tried the back of the house. On the terrace he saw a beach towel. He let his eyes travel down the path to the shimmering Pacific, where the huge ball of sun silhouetted a slim female figure scampering from the surf.

Maggie looked up, droplets of seawater dripping from her eyelashes and clouding her vision. Standing on the back lanai was a man. She hesitated, frightened. She rubbed her eyes. It couldn't be. Not here, not all this way. Her throat closed; her heart leaped.

Rand stood mesmerized by the sight of Maggie, a sea nymph, a gift from the sea. She'd seen him. He waited.

Rand. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. Rand. Her life. Her future. The figure moved. She took a step forward. “Rand!”

She flew into his arms, finding her happiness, her safety. “How, when?!.. I thought I'd never...”

“Shhh, I'm here.”

“You've always been here,” Maggie whispered. “I brought you with me, here.” She pointed to her heart. “I take you everywhere I go.”

“That's because I belong here, with you, and you belong here.” He tapped his own chest.

“You came halfway around the world to find me?”

“I'll always find you, Maggie, I'll never let you go. I'll never let you send me away again.” As if to make his words true, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her tighter against him.

“Let's go inside so I can change. We have so much to talk about.”

“Yes, we do, Maggie, my Maggie.”

The sound of his voice warmed her heart. They walked inside, Rand's arms still around her, holding her close. He said all the appropriate things about the house and prowled around until Maggie came out in a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. Arm in arm they walked back to the lanai overlooking the sea. She fixed them drinks and took her place beside Rand on the glider. It creaked slightly as she nestled herself into the crook of his arm.

“Now let's talk,” she said.

 

By the time Maggie and Rand finished talking, the early-morning sun had slanted over the island and glistened on the water like fairy dust. The air was already warm, with hardly a breeze, and the Pacific swelled and ebbed, foaming the shoreline. After a leisurely breakfast on the back lanai, they took a stroll along the sun-warmed beach.

“How do you feel about skinny-dipping?” Maggie teased.

“The same way you do.” Rand laughed, already out of his shirt and working on his belt.

She was about to plunge into the surf when he seized her hand, pulling her tightly against him. He loved the feel of her, the delicate framework of her bones, her satiny-smooth skin that invited his touch and the caress of his lips. “Not yet, Maggie, not yet. First I want to show you how I love you.”

She looked into his eyes, and it was like peering into his heart. Dark eyes that told her how much he wanted her, loved her, needed her in his life.

“I like beginning the day with you, Rand,” she said softly. “Welcome home, welcome. I've missed you.”

“And I've missed you, Maggie, my Maggie.”

She could barely catch her breath; she was mesmerized by his eyes, drugged by the meaning she found in them. Her blood was racing through her veins, her flesh tingling and eager for his touch.

Rand traced her mouth with a delicate concentration, teasing the fullness of her lower lip with his tongue and claiming his kiss while his hands caressed the long, slender ridge of her spine and the swell of her bottom. Her knees lost their strength and he gently lowered her onto the pile of their discarded clothing. She opened her arms to him, holding him close, sighing with the simple pleasure of being with the man she loved. His hands possessed her, finding those places that intrigued his imagination, discovering those places that made her cry out with delight. She loved having his lean, warm body pressed against the length of hers once again. She realized the hollow ache that had plagued her since he left her, since she'd so foolishly sent him away. His hands covered her; his mouth moved slowly from her throat to the valley between her breasts and lower until he groaned, “Maggie, Maggie, I want you now!”

“Take me, Rand. I want you to take me,” she whispered, her consciousness floating above waves of undulating heat as she took him into her ready flesh.

He held himself above her, supporting himself on his arms, his hips pressed hard against hers. He was fighting himself, denying his needs, holding himself back, struggling for self-control. He wanted it to be good for her; he wanted to satisfy her. But Maggie would not be still. She captured his buttocks, pulling him closer, deeper within her. Her legs lifted, her body opening to his.

“I love you, Maggie,” he cried hoarsely, surrendering to the strokings of her sheath that surrounded and rippled around him. He saw her smile, joyous, victorious, the smile of a woman who knows she's bringing herself to the man she loves. He looked into her eyes, summer-blue, and he found himself drowning in her, reaching for her, finding her, and touching her. They joined, their hearts caressed, their souls met, and together they chorused their joy.

 

Sawyer greeted Amelia with outstretched arms. When her aunt had phoned from Kennedy Airport, she couldn't have been more surprised. Even more unexpected, however, was this change in her appearance. When Sawyer cried, “You look wonderful!” she meant it sincerely. There was a softer look about Amelia, as though someone had smoothed the hard edges. Her hair, salt-and-pepper now that she had let it grow in, was more flattering to her skin tones than the sable-brown that had come from a bottle; and she seemed to have fleshed out. More than anything, though, Amelia looked happy. Still stylish, still perfectly groomed, but happy.

“How was England? What made you decide to come back?” Sawyer asked, leading her aunt over to the comfortable sofa that faced the long, unadorned windows. Sawyer had removed the curtains and blinds in her desperate desire for light. Her eyesight was failing her, and she was determined to see everything as clearly as she could for as long as she could.

Amelia turned sideways to avoid the glaring brightness streaming through the windows. “I decided,” she said firmly, “to fight. But first, if it isn't too late, I'm going to apologize. Your grandmother tells me it's never too late.”

“Sometimes it is,” Sawyer said somberly.

“Never,” Amelia declared. “Look, darling, I want to talk to you, but I don't know what to say. I've made such a mess of my own life, I have no right to intrude on yours. ... You—you look well.” Then, remembering her new resolution, she said abruptly, “That's a lie; you don't look well at all. You look ill.”

“That's because I am ill, Aunt Amelia. I can talk about it.”

“I can't. I can't understand why you won't at least consider the operation. If it's because of Rand, let me tell you, no man is worth giving up your life for. I almost made that mistake. You can't give up. One chance in a million is better than no chance at all!”

“You look wonderful,” Sawyer interrupted. “Really wonderful.”

Amelia sniffed. “I thought you said your eyesight was failing.”

“It is, but you're six inches away from me. I can see you clearly. You remind me of Grand now. I don't know, you look . . . womanly. Not so brittle. I don't mean that to sound unkind, but you were so thin and . . .”

“Hard-looking is what you're trying to say. I wanted to look like you. I wanted to be like you. The impossible dream. Or is that the American dream?”

Sawyer laughed hollowly. “No, I just saw on television the other day that the American dream was a Gold American Express Card, a Mercedes, and a Kirby vacuum cleaner.”

Amelia laughed. “Where's Adam?” she asked. “And what is that!” She pointed to Marble, who was contentedly washing her face. “I hate cats. They slink and stare and see things the human eye can't see.”

It was Sawyer's turn to laugh. “Adam went to the post office,” she said. “Marble's been a great companion. I talk to her and she doesn't ask questions or make demands.”

“I told you the cat was an idiot. So are you if you don't give it your best shot. That's what life is. I know. Either you go for it or you don't. Either you win or lose. I can't get any plainer than that. I never thought of you as a loser, Sawyer.”

Sawyer grimaced. “I've been called a lot of things lately. A quitter, no guts . . . Cole says I'm burned-out or a burnout, something like that. There were other names, too, but no one has called me a loser yet.”

“So make them eat their words,” Amelia said bluntly. “That includes me, too. Don't let this awful thing beat you. You're a Coleman, and by God, it's time you started acting like one!”

“I'm so scared,” Sawyer whimpered against Amelia's cheek. “I've been seeing a shrink. A friend of Adam's. In fact, I have an appointment in a little while. Adam usually walks me over there. To make sure I go.”

“Is it helping?” Amelia asked, stroking Sawyer's hair.