Texas rich (29 page)

Moss drove the Jeep carefully up the hill road, ab-eady anticipating the feel of Billie in his arms. She'd be there, waiting for him, ready for him. He smiled, biting down on the slim, ivory-tipped cigarillos he'd come to favor. He had deserved being restricted to base, he knew, but it had been rough duty when he'd tossed and turned all night long, waking to find himself alone instead of lying beside his wife. Damn, a man could get used to the nicer things in life.

Before he'd left the base, it had seemed as if Thad were avoiding him for some reason. He mentally shrugged. Maybe old Thad was more discreet and understanding than he'd thought and hadn't wanted to intrude on him and Billie. Still, it bothered him somewhat that when he'd suggested Thad keep Billie company, his friend had suddenly been busy with other obligations. Of course, though Billie certainly excited him, she was not exciting to be with. Perhaps that would come later, when she'd had more time to mature. But now, Billie posed no challenge; there was no aura of danger or mystery about her. He supposed

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most men felt that way about their wives and that was how it should be. A wife was steady and secure, predictable and safe. That was why men didn't marry girls like Lola, who worked at HolU Loki's on the other side of the island. Lola was never safe or predictable and she ran around with dangerous men, but Lola was exciting. And she showed him more interesting things than baby pictures of an infant he'd never seen.

Maggie. Now where the hell had Billie come up with that name? One of these days he'd have to ask her. Undoubtedly, she'd tell him it was after the author of Gone with the Wind, Billie's favorite book. Christ, there was no figuring women! Seth probably wouldn't have cared if Billie had named the baby Pepsi-Cola. Pap had no trouble keeping his priorities straight and the hoped-for grandson was most likely the only reason the old man had moved heaven and earth to send Billie to Hawaii. Pap had done his share and the rest was up to Moss. Making her pregnant with Riley Seth Coleman would be Moss's pleasure.

There couldn't be anything wrong with Billie, could there? She was the picture of health; she positively bloomed with it. Jessica's letter to Moss, arriving just about the same time as Billie herself, must have been written out of maternal concern. Still, his mother's words nagged at him. She had said that she'd talked with Dr. Ward one afternoon when he'd looked in on her for one of her headaches. He had warned against another pregnancy for Billie. Now what the hell was that supposed to mean? And if there was any truth to it, why wouldn't BiUie have said something herself?

As he did with everything else that threatened his plans. Moss stowed this puzzle away on the back shelf of his mind. Billie was a big girl now—she was a mother herself—and it was nobody's damn business but Billie's and his! Moss began to whistle as the hilltop house came into view. Vaguely, he wondered if his son would have his dark hair.

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{{({{{{{{ CliAPTER THIRTEEN »}})}}}}

Thad Kingsley stood just off the runway, smoking a cigarette. It was forbidden, but there wasn't anyone around of importance to report him. He took a deep drag and then crushed the butt out with the heel of his flight boot. He bent over to pocket the incriminating evidence and then looked overhead. A plane bearing the medical insignia of the Red Cross was about to land. The pilot touched down with ease. Thad felt like clappng. The guy, whoever he was, was loose as a goose.

Medical supplies? Usually they came by land in supply trucks. Curiosity got the better of him and he stood around until the bays opened. Two figures in army fatigues hopped out. The taller of the two advanced to one of the ground crew and held out his manifest. Thad watched as the sailor scratched his head and then shook it. Thad inched a little closer, in time to hear the big corporal say, "We got this delivery for some guy named Coleman, stationed here. Look, don't give me any of this crap that you don't know who the guy is. He's some goddamn admiral, is who he is. If I told you where this stuff came from, you'd know he was an admiral. What say we get the lead out and tell Admiral Coleman his personal Red Cross plane full of food is here." There was distaste on the man's face.

"I'm telling you, I know every admiral on this base and we ain't got no Coleman. We got a Coleman who's a second looey. You want I should get him?"

"You better get somebody before this stuff goes bad. And get more ice. My orders say a medical vehicle is to meet this plane and take the contents to ... an undisclosed destination. This is all bullshit, sailor. Somebody's screwing around. I just deliver. Go get this Coleman or get that truck, but do something."

"I don't have orders to do that," the sailor complained. "And we don't have an Admiral Coleman. So, you do whatever the

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hell you damn please. I go off duty in another three minutes."

"Where's this Coleman who's a second looey hang out? The one who ain't an admiral."

"In that building over there. He's a flight instructor. I'm officially off duty now. No more questions. Solve your own damn problems."

"Close those goddanm bays till I figure out what the hell to do with this stuff," the tall man shouted to his partner. "This heat will melt what ice is in there and whose ass do you think will be in a shng then?"

Thad stifled a laugh and turned his head.

"I need this. I really need this," the corporal grumbled as he loped toward the building. Thad could have told him that Moss had taken his class down to the far end of the airstrip, but he didn't. This was the best show he'd seen since joining the navy.

Two hours later, every admiral, captain, and commander on the base, it seemed, was on the airstrip to claim the contents of the Red Cross plane. "You got the password, you get the contents," the belligerent corporal said tartly. "No password, the stuff rots on the plane. You see who signed this manifest?" Thad felt a bubble of laughter rumble in his chest at the awed looks.

Moss Coleman led his weary band of students down the airstrip. His eyes took in the scene and the Red Cross plane. Next to it was a van with the same insignia. He took a deep breath and started to whistle "Deep in the Heart of Texas."

"That's good enough for me. Sign here," the corporal bellowed in Moss's direction. "If that guy's an admiral, I'll eat the entire contents of this plane," Thad heard him mutter.

Moss signed his name with a flourish. He turned and addressed the assembled brass. "Sirs, you're all invited to a Texas barbecue at my house in the hills. I've taken the liberty of posting a small map and directions on the flight bulletin board." He favored Thad with a heavy-lidded wink and ordered his flight group to about-face.

"Who the hell is that guy?" demanded a three-star with a forty-five-inch waist.

"Beats the hell out of me," a commander said shortly. "All I know is I saw the signature on the manifest and I am not about to ask one question. I'm going to the barbecue and that's all I know. Maybe we'll all be mentioned in Stars and Stripes if we play our cards right."

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Thad had all he could do to keep a straight face. He walked over to the Red Cross truck, handed the driver a map, and bent through the window to give him Moss's instructions.

The burly corporal stared at Thad a minute. "You son of a bitch, you been standing here for three hours and you knew all along whose stuff this was and where it was supposed to go and you never said a word. You navy punks stink. Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't know the password and I can't whistle. Would you have believed me?"

"Guess not. This stuff is like gold. Okay, sorry I blew up at you, but I still think you navy guys stink."

"Oh, yeah?" Thad growled. "Buzz off, buddy. And I outrank you, so lets not bring it to a test. Move it! Corporal!"

"Yes sir!" the corporal said, smartly saluting. The minute Thad's back was turned the smart salute was minus four fingers.

Billie watched the hectic preparations for the barbecue. She could tell that Moss was irritated to the point where he was going to do or say something hunful to the slow-moving Phillip. "Yes sir, Mr. Moss, sir, wikiwiki. Cow is big difference from pig. Pig is easy to roast. Cow much meat. Much more heavier. You have two cows. Much work. No help. You bring more help we move wikiwiki.''

"Steer. It's a steer," Moss said in exasperation. "More help is on the way. Let's get this spit going and we can set up the other one on the beach. I don't see what the big problem is. Roasting a pig is the same principle as a steer. The only difference is you put an apple in the pig's mouth. You want an apple in this steer's mouth, you have my permission."

"Apple too small. Maybe pineapple. Stupid you no want luau. In Hawaii you have luau. We not make"—he searched his mind for the words Moss had repeated over and over to him—"Tukas barkut."

"Texas barbecue." Moss grimaced. Billie giggled behind her hand. Secretly she had to agree with Phillip. A luau would have been so much simpler.

It was three o'clock in the morning and Billie was tired. All she wanted to do was go to bed and sleep in Moss's arms. But Moss, she knew, had no thoughts of sleep. He was going to supervise until it was time to leave for the base at five-thirty. How he could devote all his attention and energy to this ridiculous cookout was beyond her. Phillip was literally falling

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asleep on his feet, but Moss would show him no mercy. Once the pit was just right and the steer secure on the spit, Moss stood back to view his handiwork. "Pap would be proud of me," Moss said with a clap of his hands. "Now all we have to do is get the other pit ready and then sit back. BiUie, you took care of all the other food, didn't you? Ice is coming first thing in the morning—I want that beer to be ice cold. Who's shucking the com? What about the sauce? Are you sure that gal in the kitchen knows what to do with it?"

"Trust me, darling. Everything is under control," Billie said wearily.

"Did you get yourself a colorful muumuu?"

"I didn't have the time. Don't worry. I have something to wear."

"Billie, I told you to get a muumuu. Or rather I told Thad to tell you. I wanted you to wear something bright and colorful with a hibiscus behind your ear. You've been lying around the house for days. How much trouble would it have been for you to go down to one of the shops in Waikiki and get one? Goddamn it, Billie, was that too much to ask?"

Billie felt like a whipped dog. Moss had never, ever spoken to her like this before. "I'm ... I'm sorry. Moss. I didn't think it was all that important. I brought all these new clothes with me that I've never worn. They're so much prettier.. .than a baggy muumuu." Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Moss. I'll get one this morning."

Moss swung around. "You can't go anywhere today. You have to stay here and keep your eye on things. I don't want you to even think of leaving."

"All right, Moss. I'm sorry. Please, don't be angry. I don't want us to argue. Our time is so short and I don't want anything to spoil it."

Moss's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, too. It's just that you've always tried to please m.e. I rarely, if ever, tell you to do anything. I thought you would understand that it was important to me to have you wear a muumuu. I plan on having some pictures taken to send on to Pap and Mam. All the guys from the squadron are wearing floral shirts. Most of the brass is coming in island dress. You're going to stick out like a sore thumb. The hostess standing out like a sore thumb is not something I wanted, Billie. Pap and Mam are going to be disappointed.

"Well, it's too late now, so let's forget it. Old Phillip here

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looks like he's about wrung out, so you're going to have to help me with the beach pit. You can do that, can't you?"

At that point, Billie would have done anything to bring a smile to her husband's face.

When Moss left the house at five-thirty, Billie was exhausted. Both longhoms were turning slowly on the spits. The tender beef would be ready for serving by ten o'clock that night. Wet sand and salt covered every inch of her skin. Her blond curls were matted and caked with salt spray. She sank to the sand and cried. Moss had only pecked her on the cheek. It was the kind of kiss, she thought, a man would give his mistress as he exited her apartment so no trace of perfume would stay with him. She felt wretched. Angry tears scalded her eyes. Moss hadn't even responded when she'd said she loved him and warned him to drive carefully. He'd nodded curtly and climbed into the Jeep. He was angry with her. How could she have been so stupid?

Angry and frustrated, Billie kicked off her sandals and ran into the ocean. She struck out, beating at the waves as though they were the enemy. By the time she swam back to shore she could feel the tension finally leaving her shoulders.

Imperceptibly the slim shoulders squared. Moss wanted her attired in a muumuu. Moss would find her attired in a muumuu. Somehow, some way, she would find one. She shivered in the cool early-morning air. A smile touched her lips when she saw Phillip dozing on the lanai side of the house. She dried off and went in search of the housekeeper. When there was no answer to her quiet knock, she opened the door and stepped in. Again she squared her shoulders. She needed a little Coleman guts to do what she had to do. Gently she shook the plump woman's shoulder. "Wake up, Rosa. I need your help. Big pilikia," she said. "I need your help. You have to get up. Come, please. I know it's early, but it's going to be a busy day." The plump woman glared at her and smiled at the same time. "Please, Rosa," Billie pleaded.

Rosa rolled over, the bed springs creaking with her weight. "You wake me when sun high," she muttered, pulling the sheet over her head.

"Rosa, you don't understand. You have to get up, wikiwiki. Now. I need a muumuu. It's so important to me. I'll have to try to make one somehow. Is there a sewing machine here someplace?" Billie was so frustrated she wanted to stomp her feet and wail like a banshee. How could this woman sleep like

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this? How could she he there and refuse to help her? Her happiness depended on getting a muumuu.