Authors: Fern Michaels
"Uh-huh," Billie mumbled. The day she said good night to a cat named Penelope would be the day Nancy Reagan did a jig on Pennsylvania Avenue. She would, however, leave the night-light on, since that was written into the rental lease.
Lacey was on a leave of absence from between jobs. It seemed to her that her whole life was either between something or absent from something. From long habit she'd awakened at six-thirty, and now she couldn't go back to sleep. Rain peppered the window. She remembered waking up one other morning with Cole next to her. Rain had peppered the window then and they'd made heavy, intense love and gone back to sleep. They'd spent the entire day in bed.
She liked Riley, and she supposed it was possible that one day she might fall in love with him. Her mother said she would. The stars ordained it. Lacey sniffed and reached for a tissue. A lot of things were ordained in life, she supposed, but loving Riley the way she loved Cole was not to be one of them.
She shouldn't have taken the leave of absence, but the pressure from her parents was too much. She'd screwed up half a dozen accounts and was on report with the company. Her boss told her to take some time off to get her head straight and then think about coming back to work. She'd probably been replaced by now. She wondered if she could collect unemployment. Tess would have a fit. A Buckalew collecting unemployment! Coots, on the other hand, would tell her to go ahead, the state could afford it. He'd also tell her he wasn't supporting her. He'd done his duty by sending her to one of those fancy colleges that cost more than the first house he ever bought.
All indications pointed to money being tight at Buckalew Big Wells. Just last night her mother was telling her father that a windfall was due soon, and Coots had laughed and said if it wasn't real soon, her mother would have to go out to work. But then Tess announced that she'd been commissioned to do some extensive charts for a whole group of wealthy Dallas
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women. At five hundred dollars a throw, she'd earn enough to put on the biggest, ritziest wedding Austin had ever seen. In the Assante Towers Ballroom in Miranda. Her father had turned green. She'd gone white herself. She didn't want to get married. Not to Riley. Cole was all she wanted, all she would ever want. Riley was just to make Cole jealous, but it wasn't working. Her mother had ordered her, actually ordered her, to beg Cole to take her back. Her father had jumped in with both feet, telling her she was a low-down snot and not fit to carry the Buckalew name. Then, when that didn't work, he'd pretty much told her to suck up to Riley and hope he'd have enough brains to take her on. She'd protested vehemently, but Tess had shown her the way the stars lined up, pointing out a marriage that would end in bliss. Not that she believed it for a minute. She could never be happy without Cole.
The Colemans and the Buckalews, that's what it was all about. A business merger, and she was the stock. She'd agreed; that was the sad part. Now she was one step away from being engaged. After the engagement came the marriage. Then children. One-quarter-Japanese children. She didn't like kids, but the Colemans were big on family, so she'd have to perform. Her father would see to it. Tess, too. Somewhere it was probably written in the stars that she was to have 2.5 children along with the requisite dog to complete the family.
Her father needed the Colemans, specifically Riley. He didn't care about her, he never had. She wasn't even sure if Riley cared. Not that it mattered. The engagement and marriage would come off as planned, regardless of what she wanted.
Sunbridge would be stirring now. It was twenty minutes of seven. Cole should be out of the shower and shaved. He was probably half-dressed. He never bothered with anything but the coffee and juice brought to his room at six-thirty. She knew these things because Cole had told her in the days when they had shared everything. He was probably tying his shoes right now. He'd gulp the last of the coffee, shrug into his jacket, grab his wallet and keys from the dresser, and be out of the house by seven-fifteen. Her shaky fingers punched out the numbers of his private phone. The phone was right next to the coffee cup. He'd pick it up on the first ring.
His voice was rough-sounding as he said hello.
"Cole, it's Lacey. I'm glad I caught you before you left. I
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was wondering if you'd take pity on me and have lunch. I'm on a leave of absence, and this place is driving me crazy."
Cole's hand gripped the receiver till his knuckles glowed white. "Not today, Lacey. And not any other day, either. I thought we had an understanding."
A lump settled in Lacy's throat. "What's wrong with having lunch?"
"For one thing, Riley's away. The second thing is it isn't right, and the third thing is I don't want to have lunch with you. We made the break and you're about to become engaged to Riley. That's the way it's going to stay. I don't want you calling here anymore unless it's for him." When Cole replaced the phone, his hand felt cramped and sweaty. He closed his eyes wearily. He didn't need any more problems.
He was out of sync now, after Lacey's call. The day loomed ahead of him like a gigantic dark mass. He'd call Sawyer in Japan when he got to the office. There was business to discuss with her, and if he was careful, he could work the conversation around to personal issues. If there was one thing Sawyer loved, it was giving advice.
He was pacing now, hardly aware of what he was doing. He found himself at the window looking down into the brick courtyard. Memories of his youth flooded back to him. His eyes raked the apartment over the garage, where sexy Luana Simms and her drunken father used to live. His Mercury Cougar and Riley's Berlinetta used to be parked directly below the window. The Cougar had been replaced with a sleek red Porsche, the Berlinetta with a four-wheel drive for Riley. Snug in the garage was Riley's Lamborghini, which he rarely drove.
The rain seemed to be coming down in buckets. It wouldn't hurt to wait a while for it to slack off. The Porsche wasn't real good in the rain. Rain. He'd always liked rain. Lacey had told him many times that she loved to lie in bed and listen to the rain on the roof and splashing against the window. He tried to force thoughts of Lacey from his mind. Lacey and the rain. Lacey and the rain. He could write a song about it if he were musically inclined, which he wasn't.
Freedom, no responsibilities. He supposed a life like that was possible, but it would make him a pretty worthless individual. He wished he had just a little of Riley's blind loyalty to the family, his dedication. He put on a good show, so good that even old Sawyer hadn't picked up on his unhappiness, until just recently.
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He'd been brought up on goals and dreams. Hope, too. For what? Maybe what he wanted, what he missed, was the challenge of the outside world. Making it on his own, without the family behind him. That fall-on-your-face, pick-yourself-up-and-dust-off kind of thing.
A sheet of gusty rain slapped against the window. Cole jumped at the sound. He promised himself he would do something about his future, as soon as things in the oil business settled down.
Coleman Aviation was awash in fluorescent lighting. Cole was glad to be inside, away from the dreary, rain-soaked day. Away from the unwanted thoughts that attacked him at Sun-bridge like a thief in the dead of night.
His office welcomed him. He'd decorated it himself, choosing restful earth tones and soft leather. Everything in the office was comfortable and useful. The Chagall paintings always had a cheering effect. The tasteful green plants reassured him by surviving in canned air and artificial light. He alone had the responsibility for watering, trimming, and spritzing them. The onyx ashtray, a gift, held paper clips and rubber bands to discourage smokers. When he was forced to halt a would-be smoker, he smiled and said the smoke killed the plants.
For a long time he hadn't felt like a responsible contributor in the scheme of things at Coleman Aviation. When it came right down to it, it was Sawyer who breathed fire and life into Coleman Aviation; he merely fanned the flame. He did what was required, and he did it well, but Sawyer deserved the credit.
He'd known for some time that this wasn't where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. In his own way he was as tormented as Riley. Riley at least knew what he wanted. He, on the other hand, was playing the old family game. His mother's gift of half of Sunbridge had locked him in, just as Riley was locked in. Riley's eyes had glowed like Christmas lights when his mother handed him a copy of the deed to Sunbridge. Riley should have been given the whole package. He and Sawyer could easily manage all of Coleman Enterprises.
When the oil business righted itself, he was going to have to make some real hard decisions. Always, when he thought like this, his grandmother Billie's words surfaced: "Don't ever
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make the mistake your grandfather made. Don't make this family and this business your life." She'd understand when it was time to make decisions. Not now, while Riley was in hot water and needed his support. He'd see him through, and by summer or early autumn he'd be ready to make a move.
He never felt better than when his thoughts took this direction. A defecting Coleman. He'd read something once that was written by a Dutchman. "If you can't whistle on your way to work, then you don't belong in that job." Hell, he'd never whistled, not from day one. Riley had, though.
Time, and patience, would win out.
He shook his head to clear away his thoughts. Sawyer. His half sister. He owed a lot to her and to his mother. Give credit where credit's due. He smiled ruefully. Two great women in his life. A guy couldn't go wrong with those two in his corner. And if he did, he'd have no one to blame but himself. Straight-arrow Tanner.
His intention to call Japan resurfaced. He'd have to place the call himself since his secretary didn't arrive till eight-thirty. This was the time of day he liked best. He felt fresh and alert. He needed those qualities when he spoke to Sawyer, just to hold up his end. He wondered if she knew Adam Jarvis was back at the ranch with his stepson.
A pity Sawyer and Adam never got together. After Sawyer's operation and long recovery, they'd just drifted apart. Adam had needs, and Sawyer couldn't or wouldn't fulfill them. Eventually he'd married a classy, sassy California girl with a young son. As far as he knew, they'd been happy until the day she'd been caught in the cross fire of a crazed gunman in a shopping mall. They'd all rallied round for Adam until he was on his feet, taking the responsibility for his stepson. Cole couldn't help wondering what kind of father Adam was. Damn good, he was sure. Adam was first-rate.
It was early evening in Japan. Sawyer would be finishing her day as he started his. He could see her propped up on her lemon-colored sofa with a wine spritzer. He was disappointed when her phone continued to ring. He wondered why the answering machine didn't switch on. Concern furrowed his brow. Sawyer didn't exactly sit home at night, that much he knew, but she always went home to shower and relax before an evening out. He replaced the phone, a thoughtful look on his face. The sudden urge to speak with his mother made him
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punch out a series of numbers that would connect him with lunchtime in Hawaii. At least there would be servants to answer the phone, a human voice telling him his mother or Rand was available and to hold on, or to tell him his message would be relayed and the call returned. He waited, his sense of unease increasing.
The phone was picked up on the fifth ring. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson were on their way to Japan. They would call on their arrival. Would he care to leave a message? Cole's stomach tightened into a knot. He left his name.
Cole walked over to the tropical fish tank. He dusted some powdered shrimp across the top of the water. The fish ignored it and continued to swim in and around the colorful rocks and greenery. The knot in his stomach remained tight. He went back to his desk and opened the appointment book. Something was going on.
The polished brass plate said the occupant of flat 2-B was Chesney M. Brighton. The M wasn't real; it had been added, not on a whim, but rather as a necessity to reinforce Chesney Brighton's identity. The fact that the initial wasn't recorded on her birth registry made it that much more real because she had given the initial to herself. The M stood for Madeline, a name she liked.
Inside flat 2-B, Chesney stood at her bedroom window, watching the gray English dawn. In the soft early light she thought she could see the promise of a beautiful day as the faint pink streaks struggled to announce the sun. Chesney knew she was capable of putting sunshine into her life on this day even if Mother Nature decided to cast clouds over the golden orb. Inwardly or outwardly, today was going to be one of the sunniest days of her life.
Today was the day she was going to visit Sawyer Coleman, the head of Coleman Aviation, halfway around the world. The same Sawyer Coleman who, according to her hard-won information, was involved in a relationship with Lord Randolph Nelson—her father. She was going to ask Sawyer Coleman the whereabouts of Rand Nelson so she could tell... tell him what?
That I'm his illegitimate daughter. That I've been searching for years for him. It should be the other way around, she
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thought. He should be searching for me, but since he doesn't know I'm alive, how can he search for me?
She was going to change all that now. She would announce who she was, ask for an introduction to her father, produce the documentation she had concerning her birth, and then she would walk away.
Her announcement was going to be a bloody shock, one she hoped her father was up to, but if he wasn't up to it, it was his problem, not hers.
Chesney rolled her name off her lips. Chesney Brighton, Chesney M. Brighton, Chesney Nelson, Chesney Brighton Nelson. If her parents had kept her, she wondered what middle name they would have given her. Lillian? Mary? Not Mary, that was too plain. Mary Catherine? Dorothy? Amelia? Amelia was the name of Rand Nelson's stepmother, she'd learned, and one of the powerful Colemans of Texas as well as Sawyer Coleman's aunt.