“That’s well and good, but that didn’t give Ferris the right to rob Susan blind. I want you to pull out every big gun you have and shove it in that bastard’s face. Make it smoke. Guess the file is here already,” Rand said, pointing to the bright Federal Express envelope propped up by the front door.
Valentine looked over the low ranch house with its added dormers. It appeared neat and tidy, much the way she remembered Susan being. The pink and white brick, and the diamond-shaped windows, reminded her of the foster home she had grown up in. She corrected the thought. She hadn’t grown up in a home, she’d grown up in a house, a house full of kids who, like herself, were unwanted. The Delroys hadn’t been unkind, but neither had they been particularly kind. She’d been fed and clothed decently with the money the state paid for her keep. There were no extras, no spending money, no parties. No love of any kind was showered on her. Yet she hadn’t been truly unhappy, and she still stayed in touch with the Delroys. She always remembered to send a Christmas card as well as a present. But she’d never gone back to visit.
At eighteen she’d struck out on her own, working as many as three jobs at a time to put herself through college and law school. She’d done all right for herself too. She’d graduated from college in the top three percent of her class, and was the salutatorian in law school. Then she’d done a lot of pounding the sidewalks, looking for someone to give her a decent job. In the end she’d had to sleep her way through several senior law partners just to be taken on as an associate at a miserly salary. She never looked back, never chastised herself for what she had done. Her big break, as she always thought of it, had come when she took over a case from a law partner when he went into the hospital for an operation. Not only did she get a whopping three million dollar settlement for the firm’s client, but she also managed to get her adversary’s business. Afterward, she bought a swanky condo full of chrome, glass, and mirrors. End of story. No, not quite. She still didn’t have anyone to share her success with.
Valentine sighed as she watched Rand fit the key into the lock.
“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll turn up the heat and make some coffee while you read the file and come up with a plan of action.”
“Okay.” Valentine kicked off her shoes and looked around, trying to imagine Susan living in this place. “It looks like Mr. Clean lived here,” she muttered, grimacing. “Is the kitchen cozy and cute?” she called out to Rand.
“Come see for yourself,” he called back.
Rand blinked in surprise when Valentine walked in. Without her three-inch spike heels, she was tiny and didn’t seem so ... so seductive.
Valentine nibbled her fingernail. “All this kind of surprises me,” she said thoughtfully. “Susan is a world-renowned pianist. I more or less expected a house filled with exotic souvenirs from all over the globe. This . . .” she said, waving her arms about, “just isn’t what I expected.”
“Me neither. I suppose it has something to do with being sent off to England at such an early age to live with us. This is like our kitchen there. It broke Billie’s heart to send her, but Susan’s world was music, and England was where it was going to happen for her. She didn’t really have a childhood like most children. All she did was practice the piano. I always had the feeling that Susan must have been starved for love. She still hasn’t found it, from the look of things. I just fucking hate it when a man steals money from a woman. I thought more of Ferris.”
“Not to worry, Lord Nelson, we’ll get him,” Valentine said airily.
“I wish you’d stop with the lord bit. I never use the title, and hearing you say it makes it sound obscene. Sugar or cream?”
“Black. See if you can find the deed to this house, and any other papers you think I should have. Income tax records would do nicely. Are they here?”
“Susan said Ferris took them when he left, but she had enough sense to go to the accountant and ask for copies. The accountant didn’t want to give them to her, so she went to the head of the firm and got them. They were afraid of adverse publicity, but since her name was on all the returns, they really had no choice. She told me they’re in the piano bench in the music room under her sheet music. I’ll get them.”
Valentine became so engrossed in the file that she barely noticed when Rand laid a stack of tax returns next to her on the couch. Rand tried not to look at the long expanse of thigh exposed through the slit in the Armani skirt.
“I’m going to call home,” he said. “If you want me, I’ll be in the kitchen or upstairs taking a shower.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he bit down on his tongue. If Valentine heard him, she gave no sign.
He needed to talk to his wife, he thought as he left the room. He didn’t like what he was feeling toward Val. Maggie was his wife, his lover, his friend. Maggie would put it all in perspective for him. “Shit!” he said succinctly.
CHAPTER FOUR
Riley Coleman stopped his Bronco, the way he did each and every day, before he drove under the high wooden arch emblazoned with the name SUNBRIDGE. His practiced eye took in the miles of white fence stretching into the distance. Tall oak trees lined the winding drive, and on either side were expanses of bright green lawn watered by pulsing sprinklers.
He lightly pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, the Bronco moving slowly down the driveway, Riley savoring the moment when Sunbridge came into view.
The great house, caressed by the sun, basked upon a gently sloping rise beneath the Texas sky. It was three stories of the palest pink brick, and was flanked by twin wings, which were also three stories high, but set back several feet from the main structure. White columns supported the roof of the veranda, which swept along the entire front. There was a fanlight transom over the two huge oak front doors. The same design was repeated above each window on the top floor. Ornamental topiaries and crepe myrtle hugged the foundation, and a magnificent rose garden surrounded the house, complete with trellises and statuary.
It was a hell of a spread, Riley liked to say, and all of it his and Ivy’s. One day it would belong to his son, Moss. A grin stretched across his face. Thousands of acres of prime land where thoroughbreds and cattle grazed contently.
Once, the land had been owned by Riley’s great-grandfather, Seth Coleman. It was said that when he first saw it, he felt as though he could reach up and touch the sun. He had come from dark beginnings, and this great house was his major achievement. He hoped that building a house upon the rise would bridge his past with his future. He was not a romantic, but the name Sunbridge was entirely his own conception.
Riley brought the Bronco to a stop outside the front doors. He liked going in past the ethereally graceful rose garden and the feminine sweep of the clematis vine that surrounded the oak doors. He remembered how the house had looked before the tornado swept it all away. There had been shiny, dark wooden floors, massive beams supporting the ceilings, thick, dark Oriental carpets, and man-sized leather furniture. Each time he entered the old house, he imagined the smell of his great-grandfather’s cigar smoke, the thudding of high-heeled cowboy boots, and the sound of boisterous men drinking hard whiskey. Now Sunbridge was full of sunlight, earth-tone furniture, white walls and light oak floors. The smells were those of his wife and new son. The sounds were popular rock, Ivy’s laughter, and Moss’s gurgling. The floor-to-ceiling walls were gone now, replaced with half walls, so that the entire first floor was open and inviting.
He almost had it all, he thought as he opened the massive oaken doors. As always, he stood stock-still and pitched his baseball cap toward the peg on the hat rack, the only thing to survive the tornado that had destroyed the house.
“Hey, anyone home?” he called from the center hallway.
“Only us Colemans,” Ivy said, and laughed as she stepped toward her husband and gave him little Moss to hold.
“So, what’s for dinner?” Riley wrinkled his nose as he tried to discern the tantalizing smells wafting about. Moss squealed, his chubby arms flailing the air.
Riley hoisted him high, then nose-dived him downward. “Ooops, sorry, Ivy, I forgot you don’t like me doing that. He loves it, don’t you, Moss?” he said, setting the baby down on the floor. “Now it’s your mommy’s turn.”
Riley took Ivy in his arms. She smelled so wonderful, just the way Moss smelled, clean and powdered, with a trace of perfume. Ivy was a constant, a given. He knew when he walked in the door, at the end of either a bad or good day, there would be a smile on her face. Dinner would be ready, Moss would be alert and playful, and they’d each have a bottle of 7UP, their drink for the cocktail hour. He looked forward to his homecoming each day with a passion.
They had their soft drink ritual while Moss crawled about, dragging his stuffed animals with him. After dinner, Ivy warmed the bottle of formula and Riley decked out his son in Billie original sleepwear. Together they read him a story, then Ivy crooned a lullaby while Riley cranked up the Mickey Mouse mobile hooked onto the crib. With the night-light on and the door half open, the contented parents embraced in the hallway.
Riley’s favorite room, the den, was where they sat side by side to watch the news. During commercial breaks, they talked about the day’s events, their hands clasped together, their shoulders touching.
“Cole called today, so did Sawyer,” Ivy said, snuggling against her husband. “Cary called right before you got home and said for you to call him early in the morning. I called Maggie this morning, and your aunt Susan is there visiting. Riley,” she said, squirming around to face him, “they’re going to take over Billie Limited. Isn’t that wonderful! Maggie said paradise was getting to her and it was time to get to work. All of which brings me to something I want to talk to you about. How would you feel about me going back to work, at least part-time?”
Riley’s eyes softened. God, how he loved this treasure sitting next to him. “You know, you have the most beautiful eyes, and I heard Grandmam Billie say women would kill for those curly chestnut locks of yours.” He hugged her to make his point. “Not yet, Ivy, please. We talked about this, and we both agreed Moss needed you full-time for the first year. Of course, if you feel strongly about it, I won’t stand in your way, but remember that Jonquil isn’t a young woman anymore, and we shouldn’t expect her to take over Moss’s care. A nurse or nanny isn’t in our budget right now. Have you thought about all this?”
“I thought I’d put out some feelers and work here at home. I don’t want to leave Moss. I don’t have cabin fever and my brain isn’t atrophying. But by the same token I want to do more than garden and cook on Jonquil’s day off. I’m a good engineer, Riley.”
“The best, kiddo. I’ve never said otherwise.”
“If it gets to be too much, I’ll give it up. My family comes first. How’d you like the spaghetti I made today?”
“It was great,” Riley said, loosening his belt buckle. “Did Cole say what he wanted? It’s the damnedest thing, Ivy. All day I’ve had this feeling that Cole needs me. We’ve always been so tuned to one another that I can’t ignore the feeling. I was going to call him tonight anyway.”
Ivy laughed. Riley and Cole were more like brothers than cousins, and one always seemed to know when the other was in trouble. “Cole said he was probably a few hours ahead of your phone call. He sounded . . . sad. Sumi is fine, expecting any day now. I have this ... this sense that a phone call isn’t going to make whatever is plaguing Cole go away. I’ll bet you five bucks he does need you, Riley.”
“If he does, how would you feel about me going to Japan?”
“Riley! Family first, no matter what. Call Sawyer, she might know what’s going on. Go ahead, I’ll do the dishes and take out your trash.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“I’ll do it. I forgot it’s my night.”
“You can fold the laundry later.” Ivy ducked the cushion that sailed through the air.
When the door to the kitchen closed, Riley leaned back against the sofa. The soft murmuring from the television set annoyed him. He pressed the remote. The silence around him screamed. He tried to ease the tension between his shoulder blades by squirming and jiggling in the soft cushions. He punched out Sawyer’s number with his thumb. Adam answered.
“Yo, Riley, how’s the Texas oil king doing?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Adam, Sawyer’s husband, rushed on, “I want to personally thank you for that lovely—as in very lovely—check that arrived last week. Josie and Katy also thank you, as it’s their college fund money. I’m just as happy as shit that you’re busting your ass for me and my family.” It was a standard joke, an inside family assessment of Riley’s capabilities. “Seriously, Riley, I’m glad I sold you the old homestead. If you go dry, that’s okay too. No sweat from this end. How’s Ivy and the cherub?”
“We’re all fine. Ivy’s talking about doing some consulting work. Moss is getting bigger every day. He’s a happy kid.”
“If you want to talk to Sawyer, you’ll have to wait a minute. She’s trying to get the frizz out of her hair. It’s been raining here for two days, and she’s meaner than a mercenary when her hair frizzes. You’d think she’d save some of that hostility for the important things in life.” The banter was suddenly over. “Does this call have to do with Cole?”
“Yeah, I think so. He’s been on my mind all day. I was going to call him when I got home, and then Ivy said both he and Sawyer called, so I assume . . . what’s going on? Do you know?”
“Listen, Riley, long ago I made a pact with myself not to take sides. I’ve stuck to it too. You guys iron it all out. Just try and keep a lid on my wife. She’s about ready to blow. Here she comes.”
Riley grinned to himself as he listened to the conversation taking place on the other end of the phone.
“What’s that thing on your head? Are you going to wear it to bed?”
“It’s a snood. Shut up, Adam, just because you don’t care if your hair looks like a red cloud of corkscrews doesn’t mean I don’t care about mine.... What do you mean, Riley is on the phone!” Sawyer squawked.
“I called you twice, but you had the old dryer going full blast. As for your hair, I’d love you if you were baldheaded. Talk to your cousin and let me get back to my drawing board.”
“Adam, would you really love me if I was baldheaded?” Riley heard her coo.
“Bald, fat, and ugly. Hey, watch it, Sawyer. Riley called collect, so all this messing-around time is on our bill.”
“You shithead, why didn’t you say something?” Sawyer screeched. “Riley!”
“Yeah, I’m here. I envy your compatibility.” He grinned. “I’m returning your call, and no, I did not call collect.”
“He’s such a wise-ass. We’ve had a bad day, Riley. Listen, the reason I called,” she said, shifting to her business tone, “is I spoke to Cole today about financing the plane. He all but turned me down. The financing he did offer was at loan-shark rates. Is something wrong over there? I spoke to Sumi, but she didn’t say anything. Have you spoken to Cole?”
“He called today, but I haven’t gotten back to him yet.”
“Well, he really copped an attitude, and I didn’t care for it,” Sawyer said bitterly. “What the hell is his problem?”
“Hold on to your . . . snood. I’ll call him. In fact, I’m prepared to go to Japan if something serious is wrong. I’ve wanted to go back for a while, but for some reason the time never seemed right. If Cole is in a bad place right now, then this is the time for me to make the trip.”
“Riley, I’m not sure . . . You haven’t been back since your grandfather’s death. If you aren’t ready . . . I can handle this. Cole and I have butted heads before, and we’ve always been able to work things out. Please, don’t make the trip on my account.”
Riley felt the urge to confide in Sawyer, to tell her about the dreams he’d been having for the past months, dreams he hadn’t even described to Ivy. They took place in Japan, and they had no ending, and they made him cry, made his heart ache. His eyes went to the mantel, to the picture of his Japanese gra
ndfather.
“Look, I’ll call Cole. If I decided to go over, and if I get stuck, then you can put in an appearance. Is that okay with you?”
“What you’re saying is you think I’m a hothead and you aren’t. That you can handle Cole better than I can. I’ll buy into it all as long as you remember I’m the brains of this outfit.”
Riley hooted with laughter. “I’ll tell Cole you said that.”
“Be my guest,” Sawyer snapped. “Give Ivy our love. When are you coming to New York?”
“Never, now that I’m a family man. Ivy said going to New York City is like going unarmed into a war zone. When are you guys coming here?”
“For the opening of Cary’s memorial. How is he? We haven’t heard from him in a few weeks.”
“He called today too. I think everything is right on schedule. You know that he and Julie . . . Julie went back to New York. I guess it didn’t work, and Cary said he couldn’t let her think . . . she was the one who made the decision. He said they’ll always be friends, that kind of thing.”
“She must have loved him very much. How awful for the both of them. If she’s here in the city, I’ll give her a call or invite her over for dinner. Or do you think I should let her well enough alone?”
Riley had the last word before he hung up. “You did say you were the brains of this outfit, didn’t you? If you can’t make a decision, fall back and regroup or let Adam make it for you. ’Bye, Sawyer.”
“How’d it go?” Ivy asked, placing the laundry basket by her husband’s feet.
“She’s testy, but then she’s always testy. Do you have a snood?”
“What’s a snood?” Ivy asked, a puzzled look on her face.
“It’s not important. Where are you going?”
“To fill the Jacuzzi. The minute you get off the phone, come upstairs and let’s . . . you know, fool around. I’ll take off your clothes, you take off mine. I’ll oil you, you oil me. I’ll scrub you, you scrub me. The whole nine yards. Coconut oil or avocado?”
Texas Sunrise Page 7
