Texas rich (59 page)

"Later, Mother. The children?" She held her breath.

"They know nothing. It seemed senseless until we have confumation."

Billie breathed a sigh of relief. At least she could be grateful for that. "Mother, had Seth heard from Moss while he was in Europe? How do we even know he was on that flight?"

"We don't! Moss called Seth several times and supposedly his last stop was Spain and from there he was flying home. I'm afraid we have to brace ourselves for the worst, Billie."

"Mother, exactly what did Moss say to Seth when he called? Did he give an outline of his itinerary?"

"Only that he was flying home via Spain and that he expected to stay over in New York for a few days before coming home." Agnes's eyes glittered with speculation, "I think you should go up and see Seth right now. He's very weak, Billie. The will seems to have gone out of him, and the doctor refuses to give us a prognosis. What's wrong with you? What happened in Hong Kong? You're different, somehow," Agnes accused. "It's as if you don't care about what's become of Moss."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I care. But this is no time

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for me to fall apart. You go and see Seth. Tell him I'm home and I'll take care of things. Tell him I'll be up when I... when I do what I have to do."

Agnes stared at her daughter but obeyed her. It was something to do. Much as she disliked the sickroom and Seth's frail dependence upon her, it was better than being here with this strange Billie.

When Agnes was out of sight, BiUie headed straight for Moss's study. She swallowed hard and opened Moss's private drawer where he kept his address book. Her hands fumbled with bourbon flasks and the box of cigars. The packet of letters was still there. Without hesitation, she read the top envelope and noted the postmark. A few days before Moss had left for Europe. She settled herself, opened the letter, and read it. Her face showed no emotion when she folded the perfumed stationery and replaced it in the pretty envelope. She slid the drawer shut with her knee, picked up the phone, and dialed.

The voice at the other end of the Une was warm with sleep— or was it lax with drink? Billie didn't know and she didn't care. Her words were cold and full of venom. "You son of a bitch! Couldn't you at least call your father when you returned to the States? Or when you changed your travel plans? The plane you were supposed to be on has crashed. You are not listed among the survivors. Haven't you heard it on the news? Or have you been too busy? Seth's had a stroke, Moss; he's desperately ill!"

Billie hstened a minute, then said, "Personally, I don't care much what you do. Your father might, however. Good-bye, Moss."

Billie's breath exploded in a loud swoosh. Something deep inside her had told her that Moss couldn't be dead. She would have known, would have felt something. Billie leaned back in Moss's chair, hands pressed to her temples. She loved Thad; she knew she did. It was a mature love, a woman's love. But would the girl in her ever stop loving Moss? Even now, there was a part of her that mourned this betrayal and grieved for her broken dreams.

Slowly, Billie reached for the phone. A migraine was hitting like a lightning bolt. She rang for the overseas operator. "Thad?

I'm home I'm fine. Really I am. I just have a headache.

I haven't seen Seth yet; Mother says he's resting but that his condition is serious. Moss is alive. I've just spoken to him.

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He flew back to New York early. Fortunately, Mother was less than her usual take-charge self and didn't tell the children. Thank God for that. All the way home I was terribly worried about Riley. You know the way he adores Moss.... You're not to worry about me. We'll all be fine and I'll write in a few days. Thank you again for getting me to Tokyo. And Thad? Thank you for Hong Kong; I'll never forget it. Never."

At the silence from the other end of the line, Billie squeezed her eyes shut against the engulfing pain. She felt Thad reaching for her across the thousands of miles that separated them, tender fingers of love stretching over the distance. She knew he was waiting for her to say something more, but she also knew this was a luxury she must deny herself. She loved Thad deeply, but all the long way home on the plane she had grieved for Moss, the man who was her husband and the father of her children. Regardless of everything, even her love for Thad, Billie knew without a doubt that Moss was still a part of her life and always would be.

Thad's voice was a deep rumble of choked emotions that tore at Billie's heart. "Good-bye, Billie," he murmured. "I'll see you when I get back to the States."

"Yes, Thad. I'm counting on it. Good-bye." When she heard the connection break, Billie added with a tear in her voice, "Good-bye, darling Thad."

Billie climbed the stairs to Seth's room with difficulty. In the end she was forced to plant both feet on each step as she pulled herself to the top. The adrenaline that had raged through her, making her shake with unexpended energy, was gone. She was exhausted.

How fitting, Billie thought, that Seth should be confined to the same bed that had held Jessica prisoner for so long. It was almost divine justice. She walked into the room and stood near the bed, waiting for Seth to recognize her. Suddenly, Seth had become a very old, very frail man, a pathetic invalid. Agnes, who had been sitting with Seth, eyed Billie as if to agree with her daughter's observations. Then she quickly retreated, glad to be gone from the sickroom. Agnes poised outside the door, listening to Billie speak, marveling at her cool tone. There was authority there.

"Seth? It's Billie. I've just arrived home."

"Why'd you bother to come back?" he slurred. He was

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difficult to understand, but there was no mistaking the resentment in those ghttering hard eyes. "You should've been with your husband!"

Billie understood. What Seth really meant was that she should have been the one to die. "I didn't come to argue with you. I came to tell you that Moss is alive. He's in New York."

Seth shook his head in disbelief, his lower lip began to tremble, and a tear formed in his eyes. "You're lyin' to me, gal."

"Someday, Seth, you're going to call me by my given name and speak to me with the respect I deserve." She snapped up the phone from the bedstand and dialed the operator, giving her the New York number. "Your father would like to hear your voice," she said coolly when Moss answered.

Seth clenched the receiver in his hand with surprising strength. Billie helped him position it close to his ear. The raw emotion on Seth's face and the disbelief in his trembUng voice was terrible in a man to whom emotion meant weakness.

"Son?" she heard him choke through his tears.

Billie smmbled from the room. Hearing Moss's voice again had knocked the wind out of her sails. She nearly bumped into Agnes, who asked, "Is it true? Really?"

"It's true. Believe it."

"Was he with that woman? Again?" Agnes persisted.

"Yes, he was with 'that woman.' Don't start on me. Mother. I don't want to hear how if I was a better wife. Moss wouldn't be the bastard he is. I'm not responsible for his actions, and hard as it is to believe, I am not accountable for his infidelities. Now I want to see Sawyer. Is she in the nursery?"

"Poor Seth." Agnes wrung her hands.

"That's right, Mother, poor Seth. All you've ever worried about was that I'd somehow fall out of favor and deprive you of the Coleman dynasty with all its prestige and power. Well, save your pity for yourself. Mother. Seth is not going to recover from this stroke and I know exactly who is going to take care of him from sunrise to sunset. You've bought yourself that honor. Mother, with all your little betrayals of me and the children and your self-serving alliance with Seth. Before long, Mother, you'll be looking for a little pity for yourself."

Billie mmed and headed toward the nursery.

Rain drove against the Cadillac Hmousine windows and beat upon the roof. The distant crack of thunder reminded Moss of

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rifle fire. He was glad not to be driving today; it would have been impossible to keep his mind on the road. A jagged streak of lightning zipped overhead, making him shudder. A good old Texas rainstorai, bigger than Hfe, punishing the open plains. Pap hated storms. The old man complained that they made the cattle skittish, but Moss knew storms were one of Pap's secret vulnerabilities. The other was himself.

Pap was getting old. He used to be tough and able to take anything in his stride. Oh, Billie had told him how Seth had grieved when his plane had gone down during the war and they hadn't known if he was alive or dead. But this time the old man had caved in. A stroke. Good God, a stroke! And it was all his fault. One lousy phone call and all this could have been averted. All of it. But he'd canceled the last of his plans because Alice had had some free time between plays and hadn't wanted to spend it alone. He'd whipped through Amelia's Lx)ndon house yelling good-bye to his sister and Susan. Susan had smiled limply and walked away as though to say she'd expected him to miss the recital she was giving at the London Conservatory of Music. Damn it, how could he have been so selfish? Alice Forbes would have waited; she always had. Just like Billie always waited. Billie. In a way, it was all Billie's fault. Her and her selfishness. If she'd traveled with him as he'd planned, there would have been no rush to get back to the States.

It suddenly occurred to him, for the very first time, that he could have been on that plane, that he and Billie could have been killed. The thought was horrible. But then he amended it. No, they wouldn't have been on that plane, because Billie would have insisted on staying in London for Susan's recital. Yes, he nodded, it was all Billie's fault. Her selfishness, her sudden attempt at independence, had driven him straight into Alice Forbes's arms.

It seemed a lifetime since Billie had called him in New York. How had she known he was there in Alice's apartment? Or had she just been doing a kindness by calling Alice to tell her about the plane crash in Spain? Would they have cried together? Tried to give solace to each other? The thought cheered him.

Before Moss climbed from the limousine he whispered a prayer. He didn't know exactly what to expect or how serious Seth's condition was. He knew in that instant he would gladly have gone down in that plane if Seth could have been spared.

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Pap had to know he'd give his life for him. By God, he'd make Pap know and understand. They were father and son, and that counted. By God, it counted!

"Pap!" Riley called excitedly. The boy threw his arms around Moss and smothered him with a hug. As always. Moss was amazed at how tall and muscular the boy was. Chip off the old block.

"How's your grandfather?"

"Cranky." Riley grinned. "He doesn't like being kept in bed, but he can't move his left arm or leg. Grandmam says he's coming along. You'll make him feel better. Pap. He's been waiting for you ever since Mam told him you weren't on that plane."

Moss studied his son, looking for a judgment in his clear blue eyes. How much did he know? Would Billie be so cruel?

Riley seemed to read the questions in his father's eyes. "I'm glad you weren't on that plane. Pap. Real glad. Grandmam told me that was why Grandpap had his stroke, 'cause he was so worried about you. He loves you a lot. Pap, and so do I," Riley said shyly. He was unused to professing his feelings toward his father. It was something both of them understood and accepted.

"What else did your grandmother tell you?" Moss asked casually. "How's your mother?" If either one of them had told Riley more than was necessary, there'd be hell to pay. He would not allow them to deprecate him in his son's eyes.

"That's all Grandmam said, that it was all a big mistake and that I should just forget about it and try to help Mam as much as I could. Mam doesn't need me, Pap. She's taking care of everything. But Pap, Mam's different. She's not the same anymore. I can tell. I think she got real scared hearing about the plane and thinking you were on it. She's different."

Moss's heart pounded. "How's that Riley?"

"She ... she's keeping herself busy, answering the telephone and taking care of Grandpap. She lets the nanny take care of Sawyer all the time, and she hasn't even been out to her studio since I came home yesterday afternoon. That's not like her, Pap. She smiles but she isn't really smiling. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so. Where is she now?"

"I think she's reading the paper to Grandpap. I was up there, too, but I got hungry. Do you want something?"

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"I could use a sandwich and a cold beer, if you think you can make it."

"Pap, I'm not a little kid anymore. D'you want me to bring it up or will you eat in the kitchen with me? Grandmam gets upset if we carry food about the house. Bugs."

"I'll be down to join you. You go along. Don't open the beer or it'll go flat."

Moss climbed the stairs slowly. Normally he took them two at a time, but today it seemed he could barely make one foot follow the other. He dreaded this first meeting with his father. Billie, too. Riley had said she was reading the paper to Seth. That meant the old man wasn't too badly off, didn't it? Drawing a deep breath. Moss strode into his father's bedroom.

Billie lifted her eyes from the newspaper she'd been reading Seth and turned to face Moss, her voice trailing off in mid-sentence. Sensing another presence in the room, Seth opened his eyes. A lopsided grin stretched across his face; his right arm reached to the prodigal son. In an instant, Moss had grasped his father's hand and was huddled over the bed.

Billie turned her head so as not to witness Moss weeping in Seth's arms. Her lip curled witii disgust, as much for herself as for Seth's blind acceptance. What right had she now to hurl accusations, when she was just as guilty as Moss in betraying their marriage and the commitment to their family? She glanced at her husband kneeling at his father's side. For all his tears and grief she knew he would never change. He would continue living his life exactly as he wanted, as it pleased him. And if she herself were to do the same, where would that leave all of them; the children, the family?