Cole reached for the Sapporo, but the bottle was empty. He’d taken no more than a few swigs, and hadn’t poured any of the beer into the glass on the black lacquer tray. When he picked up the glass, he wasn’t at all surprised to discover beer suds in the bottom. The old Japanese had always liked beer with his dinner, no matter what he was eating. Cole looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes past six. He looked around wildly. The late afternoon sun dimmed. Another sign. He was sure of it. Shadaharu’s spirit was here, listening. If he truly believed that, then he had to believe he’d done the right thing with Sawyer. Numbers could always be adjusted. Still, his sister was a tight-ass and would view this as a betrayal. Well, he’d just have to convince her she was wrong. Right now he had to concentrate on his loyalty to his father-in-law. The old Japanese came first.
Overhead he could heard the rustle of birds as they readied themselves for flight. He thought it an angry sound. Each rustle, each flap of the wings, seemed to say, Shigata Mitsu, Shigata Mitsu.
Sawyer Coleman Jarvis stared at the pinging receiver in her hand, her eyes full of stunned disbelief. She felt like crying, but she fought back her tears. Behind her, the twins, Katy and Josie, tussled and squealed as they both tugged at a flop-eared rabbit. Both girls were as stubborn as she was. Each of them would end up with one of the rabbit’s ears, and then she’d have to sew them back on when they napped. It didn’t matter that each had her own rabbit. So far she’d sewn the ears back on both rabbits a dozen times. The terrible twos. She loved and treasured each minute she spent with the twins, who, she said, looked just like Adam, although they had her blond hair and blue eyes.
“Damn,” she muttered as she picked her way past an oversize playpen, then tripped over a Raggedy Andy doll, which she kicked out of her way. The twins stopped tugging on the battered rabbit and stared at the colorful doll flying through the air.
“Adammmm!” Sawyer bellowed.
“Are you trying to wake the dead?” Adam bellowed in return. “It’s a damn good thing no one else lives here but us, with the crazy hours we keep. What’s wrong?”
Sawyer sat down on the high stool at her drafting table, which was alongside Adam’s. His and hers drafting tables. Most times she thought it amusing that they could work side by side, Adam drawing the political cartoons that provided their living and she doing her designs. Right now she didn’t see anything amusing in it.
She told him about her conversation with Cole. “Do you believe that! He actually said that to me!” Sawyer snorted angrily.
Always the peacemaker, Adam said, “Maybe you caught him at a bad time. Sumi is pregnant, and he’s probably worried about her. He’s got a hell of a load to carry around. He’s responsible for the whole shooting match over there. Cut him a little slack, call him back.”
“No way,” Sawyer seethed.
Adam’s brow furrowed. “Maybe his business practices changed.” He was remembering Cole and Riley when they were young, when he acted as mediator, as if he were their big brother. “Do you want me to call him? You’re a hothead, Sawyer, and Cole’s no slouch in that department either. I’m sure this is ... Jesus, you’re asking for a couple of hundred million dollars. I don’t know how quick I’d be to say yes. I’m sure he needs time to think about it, to speak with his advisers.”
“No, no, no,” Sawyer snapped. “He was real quick to say he wanted seventy-five percent and twelve percent interest. Does that sound like he has to confer with his advisers? Cole is the adviser. He’s everything. Whatever he says goes. Another thing, Adam. When my family needed money last year to pay off legal suits, you were the first one in line to offer money. Grandmam Billie didn’t even have to ask you, so don’t go telling me you’d have to think about all this.”
Adam scratched his stand-up red hair, the tight curls giving the appearance of corkscrews. He hated arguing with Sawyer, because he never won. She wore him down by sheer persistence. Still, he tried. “I realize this sounds like I’m playing devil’s advocate, but has it ever occurred to any of you Colemans that Cole is not your personal banker? Where is it written that he has to come through every time you guys get in a bind?”
Sawyer started to sputter. They’d had this argument once before, and she’d come out on the short end simply because, logically, Adam was right.
“Look,” she said hotly, “the point is, I never dreamed he would take the position he just took. He’s a little shit, Adam. The money and power have gone to his head.”
“But you’re willing to tap into that power and money without a second thought.” Adam smirked. He was getting to her. Finally.
“If you put it like that,” Sawyer snapped, “I guess you’re right. But he could have been a little more fair. We’d all make money. You weren’t around the first time, when we were scrambling to raise the money for Grandpap Moss’s first plane. I remember what that was like. It was a nightmare, Adam. It was Mr. Hasegawa who bailed us out.”
Adam threw his hands in the air. “I rest my case.”
“We didn’t ask,” Sawyer said tightly, “he offered.”
“Has anyone ever questioned how that old Japanese became so successful? What did he do that your family didn’t do? I think it was Thad who said at one time Mr. Hasegawa wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth and that he came from humble beginnings. At his death he was one of the three richest men in the world.”
“What does that have to do with anything? Come here, Josie, Mommy will fix it,” Sawyer said, reaching for the Raggedy Andy doll. She looked at the battered face, at the yarn hair, and sighed. “Isn’t it your turn to sew this?”
“No, it’s not my turn. And it has everything to do with what we’re talking about,” Adam said. Sawyer reached for the sewing box that was always near her drafting table. Somehow that warmed his heart. His tone softened. “Oh, okay, I’ll sew it this time.”
“You might be right. Maybe I did come on too strong,” Sawyer said, biting off the end of the thread. “So I’ll call him back and apologize. In true Sawyer fashion. What do you think is a fair percentage?”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t get me involved. You work this out with Cole and the family.” He risked a glance at Sawyer’s blueprint. It was Greek to him. Half the time he didn’t understand a thing she was talking about. She liked to mutter while she worked. About the only thing he really understood was the term dogfight, and the only reason he knew that was because Sawyer made him sit through Top Gun five times. He’d really been out of his depth when his wife, pregnant with twins, had said she wanted to go to England to the Farnsworth air show. She’d been impossible to live with when she got back, with her constant chatter about the MiG-29 that so impressed her by climbing almost straight up, slowing to a stop at about four thousand feet, then sliding back tail first. His wife, the aerodynamicist. Jesus, he even had trouble pronouncing the word.
“There you go, sweetie. Show it to Ellen. In the kitchen, Josie.”
“Where’s Katy?” Adam said, a frown on his face. “She gave up on the doll too easily.”
“In the kitchen getting a cookie,” Sawyer smiled. “I have to get back to work. Can you handle things? I mean really handle them?”
“Hey,” Adam scoffed, “I know how to hand out all-day suckers and cookies as well as you do. I can also sew and open cans. Ellen’s here.”
“You’re the boss,” Sawyer said happily, one hand on the phone, her eyes on a set of blueprints.
Adam snorted. “Get to work.”
He could have saved his breath. Sawyer was already lost in the maze of blueprints. He swung back to his own drafting table and the political cartoon he was drawing of President Bush. Political tomfoolery he understood.
CHAPTER TWO
It was a beautiful house, perhaps the most beautiful house on the island of Hawaii. Lush hibiscus and fragrant plumeria surrounded the estate. A monstrous banyan tree that resembled a giant umbrella shrouded the timeworn iron gates at the entrance to Maggie and Rand Nelson’s estate. The snakeli
ke drive, which eventually widened and became circular, was edged on both sides by regal palms. The house itself was long, low, and sprawling, with the sparkling Pacific as a backdrop.
The house was spacious, yet not overlarge, and it gave off a cozy feeling of coolness and light, so different from Sunbridge, with its heavy leather furniture and somber colors. Every room opened to the outside. The French doors leading to the patio were sheltered from sun and rain by a sloping overhang of the tiled roof. Beautiful gardens were part of the view and seemed to come indoors to blend with the light bamboo furniture and vivid greens and whites of the walls. Graceful paddle fans, centered on every ceiling, created a pleasant breeze, and the tang of the sea far below seemed to fill each room.
Every room in the house had sheer curtains that billowed in the scented sea breeze. The carpets were eggshell-white, bringing into relief the dark tones of the native mahogany furnishings of the bedrooms, while in other rooms it complemented the light bamboo furniture.
Billie, who had been the estate’s first owner, had called it her own personal paradise. Maggie and Rand referred to it simply as home.
Maggie Coleman Tanner Nelson, wearing a bikini, settled herself on the lanai. The breeze was gentle today, causing the ferns hanging overhead to dance.
She looked around uneasily. Always when things were perfect, something went awry. She felt a tug at her heart and knew instantly that something was wrong, either with her mother, her son Cole, or her daughter Sawyer. It was a seventh sense the Coleman women had, her mother always said. So far, Maggie thought uneasily, that seventh sense had never been wrong. The feeling had been with her for several days now, and last night’s call from her sister Susan accentuated it.
Maggie draped the vibrant beach towel, a Billie original, around her shivering shoulders. It was eighty degrees, so why was she shaking and shivering? Was it Susan’s imminent arrival? This visit was unexpected, a total surprise. Susan never, ever, acted spontaneously. That in itself was cause for worry. She’d said her husband, Ferris, was out conquering the medical world, and she’d laughed when she had said it; a bitter sound as Maggie recalled. She’d even mentioned it to Rand, who had pooh-poohed the whole thing away, saying Susan probably just needed to be with her family for a few days.
Maggie walked to the edge of the lanai. How beautiful it was here, she thought, how calm and peaceful. She closed her eyes, forcing her mind to blankness. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t let anything intrude, don’t let anything spoil my happiness.”
The towel dropped and she ran straight down the white sandy beach and into the sparkling blue water. Her strokes were strong and sure, testament to the daily workout she gave her muscles. When the tension in her shoulders eased, she flopped over and floated on her back to let the sun caress her body.
Life hadn’t always been this idyllic. She’d wasted years both hating and loving her father, Moss. There had been times when she’d hated her mother as well. And she’d caused the family so much grief and sadness when, at the age of fourteen, she’d given birth to Sawyer. A child herself, she knew nothing about babies, but she’d known enough to get herself pregnant. She’d wanted to give the baby away, but her mother and father refused even to consider it. Her mother had taken Sawyer and raised her as her own daughter, while Maggie had been sent to a private school that dealt with incorrigible children. When she came of age, she’d struck out on her own, ignoring her daughter and her family. Eventually she’d married Cole’s father and, at the age of twenty-six, became a mother for the second time. Then she’d divorced Cranston Tanner and fought for custody of Cole. The day she had finally settled her son in military school, she attacked the bottle with a vengeance. For a long time her days were spent sleeping off hangovers. The realization that she was an alcoholic came to her the day she received the deed to Sunbridge, her father’s legacy. It was then that she had managed to turn herself around. Coleman guts, she told herself every day of her life.
Maggie rolled over in the water and struck out for shore. She hated her thoughts when they carried her back to that part of her life. She always cried when she thought of Sawyer and all she had missed with her.
When Sawyer had been diagnosed with a brain tumor she had turned on Maggie, rebelling as Maggie had with her family. Sawyer had refused an operation. Maggie had tried to talk her out of her decision, to be a mother to her daughter, but Sawyer had told her to go to hell, to get out of her life. Too little too late, she’d said, but Maggie had refused to listen. Instead, Maggie had trenched in and fought Sawyer every step of the way. Her brother Cole and his cousin Riley, sixteen at the time, had joined forces with her, and in the end, tired, weary, and beaten, Sawyer agreed to the operation. Maggie would never forget the day she saw Sawyer’s cocky thumbs-up salute as they stood outside the plate-glass window in the intensive care unit. She’d heard the angels sing that day. God, in his infinite wisdom, had given both her and Sawyer a second chance at life.
She was at the shoreline now and could see her husband on the lanai. Leaving the surf behind, she waved as she ran.
Rand’s heart hammered with excitement when Maggie reached up to kiss him full on the mouth, but he sensed her inward trembling, saw the concern in her eyes. Something was wrong. Maggie was like Billie, a rock when it came to emotions. It was one of the reasons he loved her. He, on the other hand, only knew one way to deal with emotions.
“C’mere,” he said, crooking a finger at his wife.
Maggie laughed. “Oh no, Lord Nelson, I know that leer of yours. Uh-uh, not now. Lela is due to come in here any second to clean, and ...”
“And . . .”
“And you think I’m easy....” And why now? she wondered.
“Sort of ... we are married, you’re supposed to be easy.” Rand laughed, his eyes sly.
Maggie’s heart fluttered, but her eyes took on a wary look. She supposed she was always willing, even when she wasn’t in the mood. Yet they hadn’t had sex in over three weeks, if you were counting the days. She was counting.
During those weeks she’d done a lot of thinking. Was she becoming unattractive, uninteresting in Rand’s eyes? What, after all, did she contribute? All she ever had to talk about was the cleaning lady, her trips to the grocery store, and the latest book she’d read. On a really interesting day when she found a unique shell on the beach or the water changed color, she had to struggle less for conversation.
Lately, all the slick magazines said that the woman in a marriage had to initiate sex at times. What the magazine didn’t say was what a forty-nine-year-old woman approaching fifty was supposed to do when she was rebuffed, even if the rebuffing was done nicely.
She was damn tired of pretending it didn’t matter, damn tired of being perky all the time, damn tired of struggling after witty, charming conversation. And she was damn, fucking tired of Rand’s trips to Hilo and Maui and being left alone for days at a time.
She felt like crying suddenly, but Rand hated what he called her sniveling. To cover the bad moment, she allowed her eyebrows to shoot upward. “How about a swim? In the buff!”
“You’re on!” Rand said, stripping off his madras shorts. Maggie squealed the way she always did and ran out across the lanai, her nude husband in hot pursuit.
She hit the deep, blue water of the ocean a moment after her skimpy bikini fell to the sand. She struck out, her powerful arms slicing through the water. Within seconds she slacked off purposely so her husband could catch up with her. When he was almost abreast of her, she jackknifed and her bare bottom upended. Rand whooped and followed her down into the silent, sapphire water. They swam alongside one another as if their movements were choreographed, then together they surfaced, their heads breaking water at the same moment.
“I love you,” Maggie whispered.
“How much?” Rand said, locking his body against hers.
“More than yesterday and half as much as tomorrow,” she said. “How much do you love me?”
“A lot, you brazen
hussy,” Rand said hoarsely. He entwined one of his legs with hers to bring her closer. “Want to make love in the water?”
“Yeah,” Maggie drawled.
“It might be a little tricky out here.”
“Is that your fifty-three years talking, or am I too much woman for you?”
Rand grinned. “More likely the other way around.”
“Show me,” she whispered. Maybe this time things would be the way they used to be. Maybe this time Rand’s lovemaking wouldn’t be so ... mechanical.
He brought his mouth close to her ear and whispered.
“Really!” Maggie laughed.
“Really. And then some.” Rand grinned, striking out for the shore line.
A devilish light in her eyes, Maggie jackknifed into the water. She surfaced, her powerful strokes enabling her to overtake him easily. They hit the beach within seconds and rolled on the sand together.
Maggie tensed for what she knew was about to come. Rand’s arms tightened despite her pretended struggles. Then he forced her closer, crushing her, his body hard and muscular. She felt herself caught in the intensity of his gaze, aware of the power he had over her. Her pretended outrage was gone, replaced now with passion as he drew her into the depths of his dark eyes.
She lowered her head imperceptibly, digging her body into the soft white sand, bracing herself for his kiss, preparing her mouth for his expected onslaught. Instead, she felt his gentle lips against her brow, slipping into her hairline and descending in a path to the sensitive skin at her ear. She was aware of the faint spicy scent of his cologne, of the close stubble of beard on his chin, of the softness of his lips as they traced patterns across her cheeks.
Maggie felt her body relaxing, yielding, as his hand cupped her face, raising her lips to his own. When she thought she couldn’t bear the sweetness another moment, his kiss deepened. The moist tip of his tongue smoothed the satiny underside of her lips and penetrated ever so softly, ever so slowly, into the recesses of her mouth.
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