Texas Heat (12 page)

“A day, two at the most.” In the awkward silence that followed, Maggie willed Cole to say something, anything, to show he was part of the group; that he belonged. Riley was trying, at least; so was Rand. Her son, on the other hand, had chosen to maintain a stubborn silence. Why? She sighed wearily.

“What's for dessert?” Rand asked heartily.

“Apple pie, I think. Martha made some this morning. Ice cream. She makes that, too.”

Rand laughed. “Top that off with some good Colombian coffee and you have an order.”

“Me, too,” Riley seconded.

“None for me,” Cole said as he tossed his napkin on the table. He didn't excuse himself, merely pushed back his chair and left the room as dessert was being served. Riley's eyes fell to his plate. Rand wanted to run after the boy and shake him till his teeth rattled. He half expected Maggie to go after her son, but she didn't. Instead, she looked at Riley and smiled.

“You're certainly going to have a long letter to write home,” she said, watching as Riley made short work of his pie. “The party, the storm, seeing Billie and Thad and all the others. Where did Sawyer go? Do you know?”

Riley flushed. He'd promised Sawyer not to tell Rand, but how was he to lie to Aunt Maggie? He was searching for the words when Rand himself came to the rescue.

“She said something earlier about going back to California to finish up some business. Are you concerned, Maggie?”

“No, just curious.... Another piece of pie, Riley?” she asked cheerfully.

“No thanks, Aunt Maggie. I want to go out for baseball in September, so I have to watch my weight. If you don't mind, though, I'd like to take a look at the generator.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I know where it is. Finish your dessert.”

“He's such a nice boy,” Maggie said after a moment's pause. “I hope some of him rubs off on Cole, but I'm not expecting miracles.” She smiled brightly. “So, what did you think of the pie?”

“Probably the best I've had since I was here last. That's a beautiful dress you're wearing. What do you call the color?”

“Wineberry. It's a Billie Original.”

“There's no reason to sound defensive.”

“Was I? Sounding defensive, I mean. I didn't mean to. For a long time I wouldn't wear the things Mam designed for me. Now I wear what I have to death. By the way, what do you think of Thad going into politics?”

“My personal opinion is he's too honest for it. The leeches and parasites who'll make it possible will chew him up and spit him out. Billie's the one I pity.”

“But do you think he could make it?” Maggie asked.

“With his record, chances are he will. But I'm not sure, from talking to him, that it's what he wants. Billie mentioned the word governor to me in a very shaky voice. I think she's worried.”

“Just how deep will the opposition dig into Thad and Mam's background?” Maggie asked sharply.

Rand hesitated. “To the bare bone.”

“That's what I thought.”

In that instant, the lights came back on and Rand was able to see the anguish in Maggie's eyes. “It's something else for you to worry about now, isn't it?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yes. My life can't stand up to a microscopic examination. A bare bones investigation will harm Thad. Mam, too. They don't deserve that. Thad's a great guy, the greatest in my opinion. I'd put him right up there with Pap. They were best buddies, you know.” Maggie leaned her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. Rand thought her skin looked like satin in the bright light. “Isn't it funny how we go through life never thinking our past is going to catch up to us? When it does, it usually cripples us. God! I don't want to be the reason Thad doesn't make it if he decides to run for office. I couldn't bear it if Mam had to defend me in public.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” Rand asked gently, seeing Maggie's eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“How could I? This place was like a madhouse, and then they left so quickly. I'm sure they must have discussed it. What will I do if Thad's career in politics is ruined because of me?”

“Vermont is far away, Maggie, and that was so long ago.

She laughed, a bitter sound. “He could be in Guam and they'd still sling mud. That's what politics is all about. Mam is news and so are the Colemans. And my drinking and outrageous behavior wasn't that long ago. Enemies have long memories.”

“The elections aren't until next year. I wouldn't start losing sleep over it now. A lot can happen in a year and a half. The best advice I can give you is to wait.”

“What else can I do? I can't turn back the clock.”

Suddenly Rand tilted his head to one side, listening. “Has the rain let up? Let's take a look at the telly and see how much damage has been done. I just might be able to make the airport after all.” Rand couldn't have said why, but he was pleased to see the look of disappointment on Maggie's face as they left the dining room.

Riley called to them from the hallway. “It works!”

“And there was light!” Maggie called gaily.

“Did you have any trouble?” Rand asked.

“No. I simply turned the switch. Anyone could have done it.”

“Easy or not, we have power and that's what's important. Now, let's see what the weathermen have to say. Rand is eager to leave us.”

Every TV station they tuned in had preempted regular programming to give a report on the storm. According to one, the airport in Austin had been closed down for four hours. It was open now, but all flights were delayed. Disgruntled passengers were shown mumbling and muttering about their time schedules. Flooding on the roads was lessening. Rain was needed, “but this is ridiculous,” chortled a weatherman from his dry control room. Trees were down, blocking the highways, but maintenance and power workers were out in full force. Electricity would be restored by noon tomorrow.

Maggie looked at Rand expectantly. “You're leaving.” It was a statement.

Rand nodded. “Riley, would you give me a hand?” The boy nodded without enthusiasm.

“I'll have your car brought around front. I'm sorry you're leaving, Rand. I hope you'll come back over the holidays. Consider this your invitation.”

“I'll think about it. It'll be nice to see the boys again and to spend the holidays with my mother and Cary.”

“I'll get your bags,” Riley said. “Is your jacket upstairs?”

“No, it's in the hallway. Thanks, Riley.”

“Do you suppose he thinks I'm getting infirm, or has he been counting my gray hairs?” Rand asked lightly.

“Truthfully, I think he just wants to be rid of you. He's confused right now. He adores Sawyer, has from the first moment. So in a way you're his enemy now. There's a lot about Riley I don't know. There was a righteous streak in my brother—perhaps I should say it was a keen sense of justice. I think Riley's the same.” She reached up to kiss his cheek lightly, then smiled. “Keep in touch, Rand.”

As Cole was looking out the parlor window to watch Rand
leave, he noticed a white Cadillac powering up the drive. It could only be his father!

He rushed past the dining room, where he could hear Riley and Maggie talking, and stole out of the house to greet Cranston beneath the shelter of the portico. He waited for the car's engine to stop before rushing around the front of the car to greet his father. “Hi, Dad. I was afraid you wouldn't make it because of the storm.”

Cranston climbed from the car. He was a tall man, lean as a reed and tanned from his recent trip to Florida. “I almost didn't make it,” he said offhandedly, leaning once again into the Eldorado to retrieve a garment bag, which he unceremoniously handed to his son. “Goddamned power lines are down. I thought we'd have to reroute back to Atlanta.” Casually he tossed Cole the keys. “Get my luggage out of the trunk and bring it into the house.”

Cole's face mirrored his disappointment. This was hardly the greeting he'd been expecting. He took a deep breath. “Dad, I told Mother I want to live with you in New York.”

“Oh, you did, did you? I believe I told you not to say anything until I'd had a chance to talk with her. What did she say?”

“She wants me to stay here. She'll probably raise a stink, but you can handle her, can't you, Dad?”

“Like I said, Coleman, this is between your mother and me. Where is she? Did you have dinner yet? I'm hungry as a bear.”

Coleman watched him go into the house before retrieving the luggage from the trunk. He didn't like the way his father had said, “This is between your mother and me.” That meant only one thing—his father was going to use him as leverage to get something else he wanted. Still, he had come all the way from New York. That meant something, didn't it?

Maggie was midway up the stairs when the front door opened behind her. She turned to find Cranston standing there, looking up at her. “So, you made it after all. I'll call Cole.”

“I've seen him. He's outside getting my luggage.” Cranston Tanner found himself looking at his soon-to-be ex-wife with incredulity. Surely this wasn't Maggie—not this healthy, vital woman staring down at him? “You look wonderful, Maggie.”

She laughed. “You expected otherwise?” Damn right he'd expected otherwise. She knew him so well, this husband of hers. He'd hoped to find a broken-down old sot, an unfit mother unable to concentrate on anything but the next drink. That would have completed his fantasy.

“You always were a beautiful woman,” he said. “Sunbridge obviously agrees with you. I haven't seen you looking this lovely in years.”

“Thank you, Cranston. Now I'll show you to your room so you can freshen up. Then you can have dinner if you haven't already eaten. Cook is keeping a plate warm for you.”

For a tall man, Cranston moved with quickness and grace. With only a few steps he was on a level with Maggie. Close up, he decided she looked even better. He was about to lean over and kiss her when she moved slightly to avoid him. For a moment his eyes, the color of an overcast sky, narrowed. Then he caught the light, drifting scent of her perfume, one he'd always liked and usually purchased for her at Christmas. Maggie. His wife. His soon-to-be ex-wife.

“You really are stunning, Maggie. I approve.”

Maggie murmured her thanks for his compliments, but she found herself resenting his mellow, intimate tone and decided not to compliment him in return. He was well aware of the elegant picture he created in his custom-made summer suit and his handmade Italian shoes. Flawless. Handsome. Brilliant.

Cranston knew he'd been rebuffed and smarted as he walked alongside his wife up the long, curving staircase. “How's Cole been?” he asked for want of anything else to say.

“He sulks, something he does very well these days. I think we should have a talk before we bring Cole into this. That is, if you're interested in his welfare, Cranston, truly interested. But if this is just another of your triyearly visits...”

“Still haven't lost your capacity for cruelty, I see,” Cranston snapped. “Besides, it hasn't been three years since I've seen the boy; it's only been—”

“Two years and eight months if you're counting,” Maggie said sweetly. “Cole has been counting. What you call cruelty, I call concern for Cole. And another thing, Cranston, spare me any of your courtroom melodramatics. It won't work any longer.”

Cranston's eyebrows shot upward. Apparently things were very different here. After a moment, as he followed her down the long second-floor hallway, he remarked on how much Cole had grown.

“Did you tell him that?” Maggie asked pointedly. She stopped in front of one of the closed doors. “I'm putting you in Grandmother Jessica's old room. I think you'll find it comfortable.”

Cranston paced the large bedroom that had once been Jessica's. He found it too feminine for his taste, but it would do for now. Taking off his jacket, he threw himself across the bed, unmindful of the smudges his shoes made on the white bedspread. If Maggie noticed, she said nothing. “I don't think I've ever been in this room before,” he told her.

“That's right, but then you've only been to Sunbridge twice before. Once for a day and a half and once for six hours.”

“I didn't know you were counting, Maggie.” He grinned, a studied, charming gesture. Maggie knew it for what it was but felt a pang in her chest in spite of herself.

“How long are you staying this time?” she asked.

“As long as it takes to make a decision about what's best for Cole. At least through Sunday.”

Maggie laughed, a bitter, sardonic sound. “I see
you
haven't changed. Time limits, conditions, you name it. We're talking about our son, Cranston. What if we don't resolve this by Sunday? Will you still leave?”

“Of course. I have pretrial arrangements and appointments for Monday.”

“Of course.” He was better-looking than the last time she'd seen him. Perhaps it was the deep, golden tan. She surprised herself by blurting, “Are you seeing anyone in particular these days?”

Cranston's mouth tightened imperceptibly. “Not really. Dinner, the theater, that sort of thing.”

“Does that mean you're celibate?”

“Well, well, some things never change, do they, Maggie? Go right for the throat.”

“Wrong,” Maggie said breezily. “Actually, Cranston, I couldn't care less what you do or who you see. But your life-style has a direct bearing on Cole. Besides, I want to be sure nothing stands in the way of our divorce. All the agreements still hold, right?”

“There is one difference. Cole said he wants to come and live with me. I know you have custody of the boy, but we have to do what's best for him. Why the hell you took him out of that military school is beyond me. You didn't even consult me.”

“Why should I?” Maggie flared. “You weren't intersted. You're his father, but all you've really done for him is send a support check every six months. And you don't even see to that personally—someone from the accounting department at the firm does it.”

“The school was doing wonders for Cole,” Cranston said as if he hadn't heard her. “He's an expert marksman. His grades are way above average. His deportment is excellent. He's under close supervision. He's not on drugs. Face it, Maggie: you made a mistake by taking him out. He wants to go back to the academy or to a private school in New York.”

Maggie's heart fluttered. She could feel the first stirrings of panic. “Cole needs a home, a sense of family. He doesn't need strict rules and regimentation. I'm sorry I ever listened to you and enrolled him in the first place.”

“Come off it, Maggie! You didn't want to be bothered, either. He was cramping our style. Every chance you got you sent him off somewhere. Now all of a sudden you have motherhood running in your veins, and you think you're going to make him live in this godforsaken shrine to your father. I think that's sick!”

Maggie flinched. “It's what's important for Cole
now
!” She took a deep breath. “And I refuse to let you draw me into some discussion only a lawyer can win. If you want to talk about Cole, fine. If not, I'll leave you to whatever it is you want to do.

“By the way,” she added, “my nephew, Riley, is here. Please be civil and don't allow your prejudices to get in the way.”

Cranston blinked in surprise. This definitely was not the Maggie he once knew. Something about her reminded him of Billie—the same iron fist in a velvet glove. He got up from the bed and began to prowl the room.

“Okay, let's talk. Cole called me and asked me to come here. He told me that he wanted to live with me in New York. I told him I'd think about it and would discuss it with you. I didn't promise him anything. But what are you going to do, Maggie—force him to stay here? He said he hates this place.”

Maggie sat on a soft green slipper chair and crossed her legs. “Cole is just angry because I took him out of school. He wanted to go off this summer on a trip to Europe with his friends, with little or no supervision. I said no. I think it's time he put down roots, and Sunbridge is as good a place as any. It's my home now, and it's his home. Trust me when I tell you this is what's best for him.”

“Best for him or best for you?”

“For him, of course! A sixteen-year-old doesn't belong in a New York City apartment with no supervision. Cole has some problems, and I think this is the place to work them out. No child likes upheaval, but he'll come around if you back me up. Right now, Cole doesn't like either of us, Cranston, and if we let him, he'll play us against each other. I don't want that to happen—and I'm going to need your help to prevent it.”

“I have to talk to Cole. I'll make my decision after I hear what he has to say.”

“I'll fight you, Cranston. All the way. You gave me sole custody. You can't rip him away from me now. You don't want Cole; admit it. What you want is to get back at me.”

“Now you're talking like a child. Why would I want to get back at you?”

“Because I left you before you left me. I walked out on you and took Cole with me. You didn't care about us. All you cared about was how it was going to look to your partners and friends. You had to make explanations, tell lies. And you cooked up some pretty wild stories—I know because they filtered back to me. I didn't bother to defend myself at the time because I was afraid of you. But I'm not afraid of you any longer.”

“The Coleman grit. It's awesome, I have to agree. You're on your own turf here. I can see how you'd get cocky.”

“Damn you, Cranston! I'm doing my best to turn my life around and make something of it. I also want to help Cole, and I won't stand by and see you ruin him. Now, that's all I'm going to say about it. I don't think I'll join you in the dining room after all. I'll send Cole in my place. I think it's time you saw your son.”

“I do, too. I guess I'll see you at breakfast.”

“Only if you're downstairs at seven sharp. Otherwise, you'll have to wait till lunch. I have things to do.”

“Mistress of Sunbridge.” Cranston laughed.

Maggie pretended not to hear as she left the room, but she could feel her cheeks grow warm. He made it sound like a dirty title from a grade B movie.

When she reached her own room, the first thing she did was lock the door. Then she let the tears come. Lonesome tears, which rolled down her cheeks and onto the wineberry dress, spotting the delicate fabric. She should have worn a suit of armor for her meeting with Cranston, she reflected bitterly. Battles always left the wounded and bloodied.

She began to pace restlessly, trying to think. Cranston could do her in with legal mumbo jumbo. He was the boy's father. He could say he was busy trying to earn a living to support his wife in the style to which she'd become accustomed. Juries loved to sink their teeth into anything even remotely scandalous or sensational. Her past was going to rear up and slap her smack in the face—not once, but twice, when Thad's opponents got a crack at her.

It occurred to Maggie suddenly that she had no close friend, no confidant. If ever there was a time to confide in someone . . . Without thinking, she picked up the phone, dialed the airport, and had Rand paged. Ten minutes later she heard his anxious voice on the phone.

“Rand, it's Maggie. I need a friend.”

“I'm all yours. I've another two hours before my plane leaves, and even then it's doubtful I'll get off before morning.”

Rand smiled as he listened to Maggie talk. Suddenly, the airport seemed less lonely. They spoke for nearly the entire two hours, and he never once looked at his watch. He doubted he would have heard if they'd announced his departure. But it really didn't matter: there would be other planes.

It was Maggie who reminded him the two hours were nearly up. “Lord, Rand, I don't know what got into me.”

“You said you needed a friend. We're friends. Don't make it complicated.”

“I feel as though I've gone through my entire life without someone I could turn to. Thanks, Rand. Perhaps I can return the favor one day. See you over the holidays.”

Rand listened to the dial tone for a few moments, then, very gently, replaced the receiver.