Texas Heat (8 page)

Sawyer felt the panic swell in her throat. There was an emptiness within her that only he could fill; yet his arms hung limply at his sides, his mouth did not respond to pressure. Boldly, she clutched at him, demanding he answer her caresses, appealing to his senses, refusing to accept his denial. She found herself falling to her knees, wrapping her arms around his legs, finding him with her mouth, almost crying with frustration when she realized that her urgings were futile. He was hardly aroused; he did not want her; she could not make him want her.

Rand's hands were clutched at his side. He wanted so much to reach for her, to soothe her, to explain; but how could he without encouraging her? If he released his rigid control for even one instant, he would lose his resolve. To use her, to make love to her when he did not love her, would be more unkind.

A low groan of misery escaped him. He raised his head, unable to look down into her face. Even squeezing his eyes shut could not prevent the tears that ran down his cheeks to mingle with the shower spray.

Blindly Sawyer struggled with the shower door, throwing her weight against it, forcing it open. With an almost frenzied desperation she fought against the scream that was building in her as she skidded across the slick bathroom tiles. She needed to get away from him, to hide, to find oblivion.

Stumbling, stopping only long enough to jam her arms into her robe and wrap the thick terry cloth tightly around her body, she flew back to the privacy of her room.

Water that hadn't been absorbed by her robe ran in rivulets down her legs and puddled at her feet. Her hair was wet, dripping onto her shoulders and face, but she was oblivious to it all.

Rand, Rand! she cried to herself. Why? What has changed? What changed you? It can't be over between us. I won't let it be over.

Sawyer sank onto the bench in front of the old-fashioned dressing table, unable to meet her eyes in the mirror, afraid of what she would see. She'd sensed this change in Rand, had refused to admit it. She'd closed her eyes to his indifference, shut her ears to his excuses. But no longer.

Premonitions. Dread. Fear of losing someone you love, someone you want to love you. It was a familiar story to Sawyer. It was being a child again, writing letters to Maggie and waiting days by the mailbox for answers that never arrived. It was always feeling sore and bruised and heartsick.

She looked up, and a bitter smile met her reflection in the mirror. Well, she'd been forced to accept the situation as a child, but she wasn't a child anymore. This was one situation she refused to accept! If nothing else, she would find out why Rand had changed.

Sawyer glanced around the room. This wasn't hers; she'd grown up in the studio out behind the house. There she'd had a room that was her own. All her things were there, her childhood things. That was where she wanted to be. This impersonal room Maggie had assigned her made her feel like a guest, as though, Sunbridge hadn't been her home, her past, almost her entire life.

She made up her mind in an instant, shedding her damp robe to change into a worn pair of jeans and a blue denim shirt. In scuffed riding boots, comfortable as a pair of old slippers, and with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she felt more like her old self, the self that hadn't been humiliated in a shower with Rand. The self that still believed Rand loved her.

Amelia tripped into the dining room, Cary behind her.
Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy. It was obvious to everyone that she had just made love, very satisfactory love. She smiled warmly at Susan and Jerome. Riley was already seated at the table, digging into a plate of ham and eggs and sipping from a monstrous glass of orange juice. Cole was nowhere in sight.

“Good morning, everyone,” Cary said genially as he filled his plate. “Are Texas mornings always this beautiful?”

Susan shrugged. Jerome merely burrowed deeper into himself. “I think so,” Riley responded shyly. “When I was here before, it was springtime, but it was gorgeous.”

“You could have asked me, Cary,” Amelia said with a pout.

“And listen to a dissertation on Texas weather? Don't forget we have things to do this morning.”

Susan's head shot up. “Are you going out, Aunt Amelia?” she asked anxiously.

“As a matter of fact, I am. I think we'll be gone till later in the day.”

“Could we talk after you get back?”

Amelia hesitated. She was not in the mood to be a mother hen to Susan today; she wanted to concentrate on Cary. “I'll see, sweetie. Perhaps before dinner, okay?”

“Sure....”

As Susan went back to toying listlessly with the scrambled eggs on her plate, Cary stared at her sympathetically. She looked awful—tired, bloated, and unhappy. Apparently, pregnancy did not agree with her.

Jerome got up from the table, his plate empty, and finished off the last of his coffee. “Ready, Susan?” he asked.

“No, I'm not. I think I'll have another cup of coffee.”

“No, you won't. Caffeine makes you nervous and you won't be able to practice later.”

“I wasn't going to practice later. I'm on vacation—or did you forget? Besides, I don't feel well.”

“You'll feel better if you practice,” Jerome said.

Cary stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. He didn't like Jerome, he decided. The man was a bully, he'd always hated bullies. If he didn't watch it, Jerome could ruin his entire day. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amelia warning him to stay out of their argument.

Jerome saw the silent exchange between Amelia and Cary, and sensed his argument with Susan could result in a family confrontation. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stomped from the room.

“Susan,” Amelia chuckled, “you never told me Jerome was so testy in the mornings.”

Susan's eyes brimmed. “Aunt Amelia, there are a lot of things I haven't told you about Jerome. I do need to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes, of course you do. I promise we'll be back before dinner.” With a bright smile, Amelia patted Cary's hand and stood up. “No time for another cup, darling. We're late as it is.”

Hurriedly she bent down and kissed Susan's cheek. “Cheer up, darling. All men are bears when they wake up in the morning. This, too, shall pass,” she said lightly, and left the room clinging happily to her husband's arm.

A wayward tear splashed into Susan's coffee cup and she rose in disgust. Mam was gone, Amelia was off with her new husband, and she was alone. She supposed she could talk to Maggie or Sawyer . . . or she could try to solve her problems herself. Sighing, she stood up and headed back to her room. Whoever would have thought having a baby could destroy a marriage and a career?

How forceful could she be? she wondered. She'd never really been tested. As long as she'd done what Jerome wanted, things had gone smoothly. But for the first time in her life, she was tired of doing what Jerome wanted. Tired of traveling, tired of playing the same music over and over, tired of doing laundry in hotel rooms. She wanted a home. And a child. What was wrong with wanting to take a year or so off to have a baby? It was time to feel life, to nurture it, to have someone to love and love her unconditionally.

Susan entered their bedroom and slammed the door behind her, looking at her husband in surprise. “What are you doing, Jerome?”

“What you should be doing. We're leaving. We have commitments, and I won't allow you to cancel them on a whim.”

“A baby isn't a whim, Jerome. We have a week. You promised. I need this week. Why are you being so awful about this? I don't like it!”

“You know I never liked this place. You told me you didn't like it, either. I don't understand why all of a sudden you want to stay here. Music and I, we're your life. Aren't we?”

Susan stared at her husband until he looked away. “It's the only home there is, for now. I can rest here. I'm very run-down.”

“It's not my fault you don't take your vitamins,” Jerome snapped.

“It's not just a question of vitamins. We're always eating on the run; the food is either overcooked or underdone. And I don't get enough sleep. All we do is travel and work. I can't keep it up. You have to understand.”

“What I understand is you should have gone for an abortion the first thing. That's what I wanted. That's what's
best for us
.”

“For you, maybe, but not for me! I told you I don't want any part of an abortion. I couldn't live with myself. Listen to me, Jerome—I will never, ever get an abortion!”

Jerome's stomach tightened into a knot. He was so angry he could barely force out the words. “You're ruining me! Deliberately! You're putting an unborn baby before me. You don't love me. You never loved me!”

Susan sank onto the edge of the bed. Maybe he was right. Maybe she never really loved him. She felt confused. Then suddenly she realized Jerome always did this to her—made her feel guilty just to get his way. Well, not this time. She was a Coleman, by God, and all the Colemans had grit! “Exactly what is it you want from me, Jerome?” she asked, an edge of steel in her voice.

“Get an abortion. We'll finish the tour. We'll take it easy next year. I promise you we'll take that trip to the Greek islands you've always wanted. I don't think that's too much to ask.”

“Are you interested in hearing what I want? Or what I feel is good for me and our baby? Let me tell you. I'll finish off the tour, and if Maggie will have me, I'm coming back to Sunbridge to have our baby. I'm going to take two years off. You can continue on your own. You can go back to England or you can come home here to Sunbridge. That, Jerome, is my one and only offer. And whether we leave today or at the end of the week is not going to change my mind. Either you take it or you leave it.”

Jerome's brain was clicking away like an overworked computer. Once he had Susan away from here, he was sure he could get her to do whatever he wanted. And he wanted Copenhagen. “It's a deal. But I want to leave today. This evening. We can take the Concorde back. What do you say?”

What difference did it make, really? Susan thought tiredly. She'd be back in three months anyway. Pray God, Maggie would agree.

 

Cole swung his legs over the side of the bed and immediately fell backward. His head throbbed, his heart pounded, and bile rose in his throat. He knew he had to make it to the bathroom but couldn't move. He rolled over and retched on the dark brown carpet. He groaned. Why in the hell had he messed with beer? He could have gotten high on a joint without a hangover. One thing he knew, he'd never make a drunk.

Had he made an ass of himself last night? Evidently, or he wouldn't be feeling this way now. Memories of Rand and Riley floated around his buzzing head. He remembered Rand sticking him in the shower after he'd puked his guts up, while Riley had looked on. Goody-two-shoes Riley. Already he hated the little Jap and he'd only been here a day.

Cole's head continued to throb. There was something he'd planned on doing this morning. If only he could think. He wondered why his mother hadn't come in to check on him. She'd probably had a flying fit last night. Maybe she'd peeked in while he was asleep. He didn't really care one way or the other.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. Cole ignored it. The knock sounded a second time. It wasn't his mother; she'd have walked right in. When the knock sounded a third time, Cole rolled over and yelled, “Come in!” wincing at the sound of his own voice.

Riley poked his head in the door. “Are you going riding, Cole?”

“Not today I'm not. And don't count on me for future days. I hate horses.”

Riley blinked. How could a Texan not like to ride? “Can I get you some aspirin or a glass of water?”

“No, thanks. Get out of here. I've got things I have to do today.”

“Cole, your mother sent me up here to get you. I wouldn't have bothered you because I—”

“Knew I was drunk last night. Well, this morning I'm sick. I don't care if my mother wants me or not. Tell her I'm still sleeping. That way you can be the conquering hero just like your old man.”

Riley bristled. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean. Why are you here, anyway? How long are you staying? Who invited you?”

“My grandfather and our grandmother talked it over, and Aunt Maggie sent the official invitation. I'm to stay here as long as I want. This was my father's home, too.” He wanted to say more, but decided against it; Cole was sick and angry enough without a fight.

“And I'll just bet you can't wait to get your share, right?”

“My share of what?”

“Don't play dumb, little Jap boy. This place. Sunbridge. Well, the deed is in my mother's name, and when she buys it, I get this place. The first thing I'll do is sell it.”

“Cole, I don't need a share of anything. I'm here because I never got a chance to know my father. That's the only reason.”

“Sure, sure,” Cole muttered as he struggled to his feet. Immediately, he grabbed hold of the bedpost. “I thought I told you to get out of here!”

“I'm going. I hope you feel better later on,” Riley said, closing the door behind him.

What was he going to tell Aunt Maggie? Riley asked himself as he walked quietly down the hall. A lie was a lie no matter how you looked at it. Maybe he could stall by going back to his room for a while. He grinned. It would be worth it just to look in the floor-length mirror again. Every stitch of clothing he had on was his father's, right down to the Jockey shorts. Everything had been preserved in plastic bags and cardboard boxes—he'd seen the cartons in his closet, all bearing his grandmother's handwriting—then they'd been taken out, laundered, and placed in sweet-smelling drawers. He'd repacked his own things and piled his suitcases on top of the shelf. From now on he was going to wear only his father's things.

Riley returned to his room and sat down at his father's desk, rubbing his cheek on his shoulder. The checkered shirt gave off an aroma of cleanliness . . . and something. The same scent that lingered on the baseball hat his grandmother had brought to Japan on her first trip.

This room that had belonged to his father was so different from his room back in Tokyo. There the furniture had been Eastern, light and airy. Here the furniture was heavy Western style. He could see traces of the boy in the man's room. The shelves in the closet held treasures he would go through when he felt the time was right. He could envision himself sitting here at the desk, using the same goosenecked lamp, poring over the same books, maybe even using some of his father's pencils; there were enough of them in the drawer.

He wanted to charge outside and explore and investigate. On the long plane trip with Sawyer he'd fantasized about doing all kinds of things with Cole; they'd be friends, inseparable buddies. Sixteen was almost grown-up. There would be girls and they'd date, and then in the confines of their rooms they'd talk about those dates.

It wasn't going to happen. Fantasies? Not really. The reality of his situation had hit him the moment he'd been introduced to Cole. Cole Tanner was his cousin, but he was pure trouble. And right now, trouble was something he didn't want to deal with.

Sighing, Riley stood up and took a last look at himself in the mirror. He couldn't delay going downstairs any longer. Aunt Maggie had sent him to get Cole, and he'd have to tell her something. He was relieved to see Cole when he rounded the corner of the hallway. He didn't hurry his step and wasn't surprised when his cousin didn't wait for him.

Riley knew his aunt Maggie thought they were together when she appeared at the foot of the stairs and watched them come down. Neither boy did anything to make her think differently.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day.” She was talking to Cole, but she turned to Riley. “Ken has your horse ready to be saddled. You might as well learn from scratch. Cole will join you soon. I want to have a cup of coffee with him first.

“Feeling a bit under the weather, are we?” Maggie said indulgently after Riley had left.

“Come off it, Mother. I'm suffering from a hangover and we both know it. Cheerfulness isn't going to help my pounding head or my sour stomach. And let's set the record straight right now: I'm not going riding, with or without my cousin. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep shoving him at me.”

Maggie took a deep breath. Obviously it was going to be one of those mornings. “Look, Cole, you and I have quite a few things to discuss, and now is as good a time as any. That's an order.”

The minute Martha had poured Cole's orange juice and left, Maggie started in. “I'm very disappointed in you, Cole. I expected more from you last night. You knew how important that party was to me. How could you do that? You're only a child!”