Texas fury (29 page)

him revved up, I think it's you. I'll keep in touch.

Much love, Lacey

Lacey licked the envelopes and felt as if a load of bricks had been removed from her shoulders. She felt like a real person for a change. An unhappy real person. She knew her about-face had been lightning-quick. Anything else wouldn't have worked. There was nothing like shame and guilt to make a person beat a hasty retreat, only this person wasn't retreating. She was moving forward, her past behind her. She hoped she had the strength and the courage not to weaken and look back. If Ivy could do it, so could she.

Lacey spent the rest of the day packing two suitcases to take to New York. The rest of her belongings went into her three college trunks, to be shipped when she had a permanent address.

The last thing she did before climbing into her bed for the last time was shred all Cole's letters and pictures. The Coleman newspaper clippings were tossed whole into the waste-basket. She wouldn't look back and she wouldn't leave anything behind. New beginnings were exactly what they implied.

Lacey slept deeply and dreamlessly.

The five remaining days till Riley's return were pure hell for Cole. A dozen times each day he made up his mind to confess to Riley. Two dozen times each day he decided to keep quiet and torture himself for the rest of his life. He couldn't ever remember being so miserable. Food stuck in his throat and he wasn't sleeping.

The day before Riley's return, a letter arrived at Sunbridge addressed to him and marked "personal." There was no return address. Jonquil put it on his desk. It was late, almost midnight, when Cole opened his mail. He knew he was half-drunk, but he could still see clearly to read the short note from Lacey.

Dear Cole,

I'm in New York, as you can see by the postmark. I decided this was best for all of us.

The other night was a mistake, one I will regret for

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the rest of my life, just as you will. I hope and pray that you won't get any noble feelings and confess to Riley. He's too nice a guy to lay that on him. I've moved on, you'll go on with your life, and Riley will do whatever he has to do.

Please, Cole, if you ever felt anything for me, do me this one last favor and don't say anything to Riley.

Lacey

Cole tossed the letter on his desk with the rest of his mail. He needed someone to talk to. Adam. Adam loved to talk and give advice. He pressed the numbers and waited. Adam's groggy voice came over the wire.

"What the hell time is it, Cole?"

"How should I know," Cole said belligerently. "I called you because I need to talk, not for the time."

Adam's voice was instantly alert. "What's wrong? Are you drunk?"

"Everything. Yes, I'm probably drunk. I only have a little Scotch left in the bottle."

"Was it full when you started drinking?"

"Yesterday or today?"

"You at home? Good; stay put and I'll be there as soon as I can."

When Adam arrived, he stood in the doorway and whistled. "I thought you guys had a housekeeper. What's with this mess?" he asked, indicating piled-up clothing, assorted shoes, books, papers, and magazines scattered all over the room. Wet towels hung from chairs and bedposts. He tried not to look at the parade of liquor bottles on the dresser. Cole was no drinker, nor was he a smoker, but ashtrays had spilled over onto the night tables.

"You want something to drink? If you do, I have to look for it.... Maybe I should just go downstairs and get another bottle," Cole muttered as he peered around the room.

"No, thanks. I think I'm going to need a clear head for whatever it is you're going to tell me."

"Not going to tell you anything, going to show you." Cole made a pass at the desk to pick up Lacey's letter. "Read this."

"So you unzipped your pants when you shouldn't have," Adam said cheerfully. "Happens to the best of us. If you keep your mouth shut, like Lacey asks, there shouldn't be a problem."

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"Riley's a good guy. We're buddies. Even if I don't say anything, he'll know somehow: he's Japanese."

"Guilt's an awful thing, Cole. You can either carry it around your neck like a lead weight or you can say the hell with it and forget it. I'd opt for the latter if I were you. Please don't tell me you're thinking of confessing all. Nah, you wouldn't be that stupid." But Cole's miserable face told him he'd guessed correctly. "Look, you called me here to talk, presumably to ask my advice. Well, here it is. Don't say anything. Trust me when I tell you you won't feel any better afterwards. Riley will never, ever forgive you. Probably because he's Japanese, as you said. Once words are said, they can't be taken back. Remember that."

"I thought I was dreaming and then. . . What the hell would you have done, Adam?"

"Probably the same thing you did. That doesn't make either of us right," he added hastily. "Put it behind you. You aren't a kid anymore. You want to play in the big leagues, you gotta pay your dues."

"How'm I going to look at him?" Cole dropped his head into his hands. Adam stood by helplessly, patting Cole's heaving shoulders. "He gets home tomorrow. Hell, he doesn't even know she's gone."

"Cole, do you want to come back to the ranch with me?"

"No. Go home, Adam. I'm sorry I dragged you out in the middle of the night. You have your own problems."

"That's what friends are for. Jesus, I hate leaving you like this. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Cole snorted. "I'm not going to do myself in, if that's what you're thinking. I won't say anything. I'm going to bed. Sorry I dragged you out of bed," he said, eyeing Adam's pajama bottom sticking out from his trousers.

"Hell, I was only sleeping. Strip down; I'll wait till you're in bed." Adam was as good as his word. He tossed a pile of clothing and assorted junk onto the floor and settled himself in a corner chair. He shook his head wearily, his eyes never leaving Cole. Twenty minutes later he was satisfied Cole was in a deep sleep. He got up, massaging his stiff knees. He was tempted, but only for a moment, to tidy the room. Cole was going to wake up with one hell of a hangover. He shrugged as he went about turning off lamps until only one soft pink bulb glowed.

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It was a few minutes before two when he headed back to the Jarvis ranch. He wished there were something he could do for Cole, something physical that would make the young man feel better. Life was hard enough without carrying around a load of torturing guilt.

As always when he found himself involved with the Cole-mans, Adam's thoughts turned to Sawyer. He wished she were here so he could unburden himself to her. She'd know just the right thing to say to Cole, and she'd be free with her advice about how to handle Jeff. God had blessed her with common sense and a blistering tongue. He smiled in the darkness of the car. One day, he hoped, she'd realize she couldn't live without him. Or he'd storm into wherever she was and say something she'd understand, like "Let's cut all this bullshit. I love you and I know you love me, so I'm going to sweep you off your feet and ..." That's as far as he ever got in his thinking, because he couldn't bear the thought that she might kick up a fuss and scream out that she didn't love him.

Time. Time would take care of everything.

The long working day was over when Riley swung the Bronco into his parking space. Today was Jonquil's day off, which meant the house would be dark and forlorn, unless Cole was home. He looked around for Cole's Porsche, but it was nowhere in sight. He was probably out having dinner or meeting friends for drinks. The thought of food nauseated Riley. An apple or some crackers would do fine for now. What he really wanted was a long, hot shower, some clean clothes, and a stiff drink.

He snapped on the light in the kitchen and looked around. He loved this part of the house. The first time he saw it, his mouth dropped open. He was just a kid visiting Sunbridge for the first time. He'd no idea of what Western living was like, but he knew he liked this warm, comfortable, busy place. He fell in love with the wicker rocking chair next to the fieldstone fireplace. That first time there had been a big old yellow cat snoozing in it. His mother had been with him then. He rubbed at his eyes, not sure if he was rubbing away tears or grit from lack of sleep.

Dark wood beams, gleaming copper, and shiny green plants welcomed him home to the big old kitchen, chock-f of memories. His mother had told him his father used to snitch

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cookies from the heavy crock in the corner of the cabinet. From force of habit he reached in, knowing it would still be full. It was his only request of Jonquil when he and Cole hired her. He withdrew a soft sugar-coated cookie that resembled a slice of cake, his father's favorite. The delicate flavor delighted Riley. Like father, like son.

Lights sprang to life as Riley walked through the house, the house he loved with all his heart. He stood back, crouched like a basketball player, and aimed his baseball cap at his hook on the hat tree. He grinned when the Yankee cap settled itself. He was home. He should get a dog so there would be someone to greet him on days like this. He bounded up the stairs to his room.

The stinging spray of the shower peppered him as he lathered his body with soap. He felt anxious for some reason as he dried himself and hung the towel neatly on the rack. He and Cole often referred to themselves as the two neatest Cole-mans, citing Sawyer as the least neat and swearing they could never live in the chaos she did.

Riley's damp toes dug into the coffee-colored carpeting as he made a selection for the stereo. Billy Ocean, one of his favorites, soon filled the room with sound. He wasn't alone anymore.

He knew there was mail on his desk, and out of the corner of his eye he'd noticed the airmail stripes on the top envelope. A letter from his grandfather. He couldn't postpone the moment any longer. He turned on the reading light next to his desk and went through the mail. American Express bill, Visa, a bill from a local garage for the new tires he'd bought for the Bronco. Flyers of every sort found their way into the waste-basket. A card from the dentist showing a set of teeth that looked like piano keys reminded him he was due for a checkup. A letter from Lacey made him frown. Right now he wasn't in the mood for Lacey or a letter bearing her name. He tossed it on his desk and forgot about it.

The stiff drink he'd promised himself was in his hand when he sat down to read his grandfather's letter. Billy Ocean crooned softly, but his melodious voice did nothing to ease the tension in Riley's shoulders.

The letter was short, and written in Japanese in his grandfather's own hand.

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My dear grandson,

I beg of you to forgive this old one's shaking hands as I put my pen to paper. Much time has gone since you last wrote me. I kriow you are in South America as I write this letter, but Sumi assures me you will be back at Sunbridge when this letter arrives.

It is with sadness that I tell you there may be no cherry blossoms this year on our hill. There are so many things this old one finds himself grieving for these days.

Sawyer tells me you are well, and my heart beats in happiness that you find satisfaction and contentment in America. Perhaps you will honor this old one with a visit one day soon. I will keep that wish close to my heart.

I remain forever your respectful grandfather.

Riley folded the letter and replaced it in the flimsy envelope. To write or not to write. What could he say? Wasn't it better to say nothing? He supposed, if he set his mind to it, that he could write a letter full of chatty events and not commit himself to anything. But that would only torment the old one, and he would see through the words in the letter. Or he could write the sort of letter his grandfather expected, full of all the reasons why he didn't want to return to Japan and why he wanted to stay here, in his father's home. He could say he'd made no decision and couldn't make one until he got his life in order. He could tell him his heart ached with love and that he was devastated by his grandfather's illness. He could speak of his obsession with Sunbridge and his American family. He could even write about the cherry blossoms and tell him how often he thought of that peaceful hill. If he wanted to, he could tell him that he called Sawyer once a week to find out how he was. He could write all those things, but he wouldn't. Instead he would write a duty letter so the old one's eyes would fill with warmth when it was handed to him.

Riley rummaged for paper and pen. He would write in English, not Japanese.

Dear Grandfather,

Sumi was correct when she told you I would be in Sunbridge when your letter arrived. I grieve with you for the possible loss of our cherry blossoms. It has been

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cold here, too. Perhaps next year there will be double blossoms. My mother spoke to me of that once, but I myself cannot remember that beautiful sight.

My trip to South America was just short of fruitless. There is so much corruption and greed there, I find myself at a loss as to how to deal with it. Since it is my responsibility to activate the oil leases, I know I must come up with a solution. I will, but it will take time.

You did not speak of your health, Grandfather. I pray that you are comfortable.

I cannot write the things you want to hear from me, not now. I beg you to understand, my wise grandfather. I have never, in the whole of my life, asked you for anything. I ask now that you allow me the time I need and that you understand my inability to make commitments I might not be able to keep. Because I love you with all my heart, I feel I can ask this one thing of you.

Please, take care of yourself. I remain your loving grandson.

Riley

Riley read the letter over once and then once again. It was the best he could do. He rummaged in his desk for an envelope and stamp. He found only the stamp. He could have sworn he had a whole package of envelopes. Cole must have borrowed them.

Even though they often borrowed from each other, Riley didn't like the thought of going through Cole's desk. Still, he wouldn't feel he'd done his duty where his grandfather was concerned until the letter was on its way. The desire to get the letter downstairs on the hall table for the mailman outweighed his reluctance.

When he opened the door to Cole's room, his jaw dropped. His first thought was that Jonquil had quit. His second thought brought a grin to his face. Cole must have had an orgy. The room reeked of stale liquor, staler sweat, and cigarette smoke. He grinned at the brigade of Southern Comfort and Wild Turkey bottles on the dresser. He thought he could smell stale pot. As a rule, Cole didn't go for marijuana, and neither did he, so that left his guest, whoever she was. He picked his way carefully over discarded sneakers, dirty dishes, and soiled underwear.