Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

  “Okay, I’ll see you there, then. Hold on, I’ll walk you to the door. We don’t want your mother thinking I’m the kind of guy who pulls up and blows the horn and dumps you out on the street.”

  “Mother would never think that,” Billie said loyally, but she knew it was a lie and so did Moss. “I had a wonderful time. Thank you. And thank you for the chocolates.”

  “Hey, I enjoyed it, too.” He realized it was true. He did enjoy Billie’s company, was enchanted with it. She made him feel good. She listened and cared and didn’t talk too much.

  She knew Moss was going to kiss her. It wasn’t a soul-searing experience, and rockets didn’t shoot off into the night. Instead, the kiss was soft, gentle, with the promise of so much more. More than Moss was ready to give or ask of her. She didn’t feel dizzy or weak-kneed. A slow-spreading warmth enveloped her and she wanted him to hold her, just for a moment, just until she could remember that the world consisted of more than Moss Coleman. Her eyes were shining in the porch light. Someday there would be more—she was sure of it—because she would make it happen.

  “Good night, Billie. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “G’night, Moss. Drive carefully.”

  His mother was the only one who told him to drive carefully, and then, as if to spite authority, he would drive like a bat out of hell. Tonight he drove carefully, all the way back to the Navy Yard.

  Agnes stood in the darkened parlor watching through the lace curtains. Her back stiffened. She’d heard the low, throaty laughter that was Billie’s. She’d never heard her daughter laugh that way; it was a woman’s laugh. Quickly, she moved to the kitchen, waiting for the front door to open. “How was the movie?” she asked.

  “It was awful. Just awful. Neither of us liked it.” There, that was the truth. She simply felt no need or desire to tell Agnes when, where, why, or what. “How was your afternoon, Mother?”

  “Oh, I played canasta with the neighbors and I’ve only just come home. I was going to listen to Amos ‘n’ Andy. Join me?”

  “No thanks, Mother, I have to read a couple of chapters for a history quiz tomorrow. I think I’ll have a sandwich and get started.”

  There was no quiz; neither was she hungry. She just wanted to be alone and think about today. She wanted to remember every look, every word, everything about Moss. Saturday was only six days away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Agnes appeared in the kitchen to gather her scouring cleansers and wash bucket. Billie stood at the sink clearing away the last of the breakfast dishes. The old wringer washer on the back service porch sloshed rhythmically. “You’ll have to hurry along, Billie, if you’re going to the movies this afternoon with your nice friends.”

  All of a sudden she had “nice friends,” Billie noticed. “I’m not going to the movies today. I thought I’d stay home and give you a hand. And besides, I want to wash my hair.”

  At this deviation from her daughter’s Saturday routine, Agnes’s eyes widened as she waited for the explanation she knew would come. Billie always washed and waved her hair on Saturday night in time for Sunday mass. Billie was struggling with the words. Agnes could sense it.

  “Moss invited me to the dance at the USO tonight,” Billie said. “I’m going.” It was a flat statement, not a challenge.

  “You know how I feel about the USO,” Agnes countered. “It’s perfectly fine for all those boys so far from home and it may be perfectly respectable for all those other girls, but not for you, Billie. When Lieutenant Coleman comes to call, I’ll suggest he take you somewhere else, somewhere not quite so controversial.”

  “He’s not coming to call, Mother. I’m going to meet him there. And the only controversy concerning the USO is yours.”

  “Would it make any difference to you if I said I didn’t want you to go?” Agnes pretended to fuss with the cleaning rags and cleansers. This stubborn determination was so unlike Billie that it frightened her.

  “Of course it makes a difference. But I’m going anyway.” Billie felt her knees quaking and her breath caught in her throat. Never had she deliberately disobeyed her mother, but being with Moss, seeing him again, was almost a tangible need.

  Agnes did not speak to her for the rest of the day. The sounds of scrubbing and moving furniture upstairs said all there was to say. There was no supper that night. Billie stood in front of the refrigerator and picked. Agnes was in her upstairs front bedroom, listening and waiting for Billie. She never came. Agnes heard the front door close at 7:18.

  The USO was near the Navy Yard, a good walk, and Billie wasn’t used to being out at night alone. Thankfully, it wouldn’t be dark for almost an hour and she’d be with Moss by that time.

  Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, not saddle shoes this time, but the high heels she’d been saving for the prom. Nylon stockings—“Starlight” was the name of the light beige shade—made her feel very adult even though her new garter belt felt a little loose. She’d finished making her dress only yesterday. It was one of her own designs, a soft navy-blue georgette that had cost a fortune at the drygoods. She’d adapted the little Peter Pan collar the pattern called for into a portrait neckline and the intricate puffed sleeves ended in a band just above her elbows. The skirt was full and hung in soft gathers from the tiny waistline, and the taffeta underslip rustled pleasantly with each step she took. Tiny smoke-pearl buttons retrieved from an old dress she’d outgrown marched down the front closing. Agnes hadn’t seen it. She would have decreed the style and color too severe for Billie’s soft blond coloring, but Billie’s sense of color and style told her Agnes would have been wrong. The dress was perfect for her.

  Even a block away Billie could hear the strains of Glenn Miller’s band coming through the open doors of the USO. Men in uniform hung around outside and the dark armbands of the military police were in evidence. She stopped in the shadows for a moment to run a comb through her hair. Tonight it was pulled up from her ears and puffed over the forehead in a pompadour, allowing the back to fall long and soft to her shoulders. Just a touch of lipstick and powder completed her toilette. Tonight Billie Ames was feeling very far from being a schoolgirl and much closer to the woman she wanted to be, for Moss.

  He saw her immediately and ran across Front Street to meet her. He was aware of the change in her and his grin said he knew it was for him. “You’re terrific,” he told her, looking down into her eyes. He realized how glad he was that she’d come, how relieved. Her hand was warm in his and she smiled up at him, making him feel as though he were the only man in the world. Moss was used to female attention and flattery, but there was nothing of the coquette about Billie Ames. As a Southern buddy would say, she was “gen-you-ine”!

  The lighting on the dance floor was subdued but not dim. The Victrola attached to speakers played Dick Haymes’s “If You Were the Only Girl in the World.” Moss held her close, his cheek resting against her brow, and hummed along with the music—the sound was exciting, masculine, in her ear. She never remembered being so happy, so lovely, so much a woman.

  Girls and chaperones served punch and cookies at one of the long tables set off to the side of the converted storefront dance hall. Another table held coffee and doughnuts. Khaki-green and navy-blue uniforms lined the walls, swirling skirts and the aroma of toilette water filled the air. No smoking was allowed and Billie had gone to the powder room while Moss went outside for a cigarette. She’d noticed last Sunday that he smoked Old Gold. The aroma of the tobacco clung to him when he again took her into his arms.

  As they danced, Moss felt a hand clap onto his shoulder and Billie looked up to see a tall attractive lieutenant smiling down at her. “Thought I’d cut in here, Coleman,” the officer said mildly. “Won’t you introduce me to the lady?” His accent was crisp, the vowels slightly flat, and Billie fixed him as a New Englander.

  For a moment, Moss appeared annoyed. “Billie Ames, Lieutenant Thad Kingsley.” Thad stepped forward, forcing Moss to relinquish her into his arms.

  As Billi
e stepped into Thad’s embrace she felt his soft gray eyes smiling down at her. He had nice eyes, ready to brighten with laughter and soften his chisled, craggy features. Taller and leaner than Moss, he modified his long steps to accommodate her as they danced.

  “You look like the angel from the top of a Christmas tree.”

  “And you look like one of the posters outside the post office. ‘Uncle Sam wants you!’” she bantered, his compliment pleasing her.

  “I’ll try to think of that as flattery.” He laughed easily, his eyes brightening the way she had known they would.

  He seemed to spend a lot of time in the sun; his skin was shades darker than his hair, which was the mellow gold of a summer’s day. Billie liked Thad and his quiet way. Sometimes Moss’s intensity made her uncomfortable and stirred mysterious emotions within her. Thad was refreshing and had a knack for putting people at their ease.

  “Are you from Philadelphia?” he was asking. “It’s a nice city and the people have been especially kind to servicemen.”

  “The City of Brotherly Love,” she reminded him. “You’re from New England?”

  “Shows that much, does it?” He laughed at himself. “Vermont. Top western corner of the state. My family has been there for generations and they actually claim to favor the climate. I prefer somewhere warmer myself. Guess I’ll get enough of the tropics if I’m sent to the Pacific.”

  “Do you think you will?” she asked. An icy finger touched her heart at the thought of all these beautiful young men going off to war. Especially when she thought about Moss leaving Philadelphia.

  “Loose lips sink ships,” Thad teased, sensitive to her sudden melancholy. “Actually, none of us knows where we’ll end up, but I know for a fact Moss is itching to get back to the Enterprise, where we trained together. For the moment, I’m assigned to the Sarasota, but she’s in for repairs.”

  As Thad took Billie around the dance floor, he looked down at this fresh young thing who was softer than cotton in his arms. What the hell was Coleman doing with her? Little Billie was hardly Moss’s type. She was young, too young, and sweet.

  Several times during the evening other men cut in on Moss to dance with her. She felt his eyes follow her around the dance floor and it made her feel all shivery inside. “It’s time I took you home, Billie. It’s nearly ten and I couldn’t borrow a car tonight.”

  “I’ll have to meet you outside,” she told him. “You know the USO doesn’t allow girls to leave with the servicemen. If someone sees us, I won’t be allowed back.”

  “You’re not coming back,” Moss growled. “I don’t like sharing you with other men. You belong to me, Billie.” He put his arm around her shoulder and led her outside, ignoring the stares of several girls and servicemen standing near the door.

  Outside Billie’s front door, Moss took her into his arms. She liked the way she fit against him, liked the feel of his strong thighs pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. He tilted up her chin with the tip of his finger and she saw his dark brows draw together as he looked down at her. It was almost as if he were thinking that he didn’t quite know what to do with her. Then he kissed her, a slow, warm caress of his lips on hers. She gave herself up to him, parting her lips, aware of the hard bite of his teeth behind that kiss. There was a power about Moss Coleman, carefully hidden behind those careful manners and tender kisses, and Billie was drawn to it, taking some of it for herself. She heard his soft intake of breath. This was a very different kiss from the first. There was a possession in it and a yielding. His hands cupped the back of her head, prolonging the contact, bringing her mouth to his with a hungry yearning. When his hands slid down her back, resting just above the slender curve of her buttocks, he bent lower to bury his face in the hollow of her throat, nipping the softness of her skin, inhaling the fragrance of her. “Oh, Billie,” she heard him say, “you shouldn’t let me feel this way about you.”

  In response, Billie cradled his head against her, her fingertips grazing the crisp dark waves at the back of his neck. “I want you to feel this way, Moss,” she whispered, “I want . . .”

  The next contact of his mouth on hers was sudden, demanding, and quickly over. “Go inside, Billie, for God’s sake, go inside.”

  He released her so suddenly that it left her trembling, confused, and a little frightened. But if she had never known another thing, Billie Ames knew she had wanted that kiss to go on forever. Before her hand touched the doorknob, Moss had disappeared down the front walk, already lost in the shadows of the overhanging trees.

  From the upstairs bedroom window Agnes watched. Because of the porch roof she hadn’t seen what transpired outside the front door, but she’d seen Billie and Moss come up to the house. Nine minutes later she watched him streak down the front path.

  Agnes watched the relationship between Billie and Moss change from a casual friendship to something deep and warm. Moss came several nights a week after dinner and there were phone calls during which Billie would laugh that new woman’s laugh. She knew her daughter was untouched, still innocent. She could read it in Moss’s eyes, but the hunger she read in Billie’s was disconcerting. Each night when he brought Billie home he would come in for a few minutes. Agnes dreaded those brief encounters when she was forced to look into the lieutenant’s eyes for reassurance. Despite her misgivings, which were mostly due to Billie’s behavior, Agnes trusted Moss. There was a certain nobility about him, which she suspected would prevent him from taking unfair advantage of Billie’s innocence. At least she hoped such was the case, Agnes was not certain of anything any longer, and it was this that caused her the most distress.

  Her fond hopes of an alliance between the Fox family and her own were hardly more than a memory. The most she could hope for at this point was that Moss Coleman would leave Philadelphia and leave soon. It was all he talked about during Sunday dinner, which was now a ritual. He hoped to be attached to a fighter squadron in the Pacific. The shadow of pain in Billie’s eyes whenever he expressed such desires pierced Agnes’s heart. If only it would happen before Billie left for college; then she would have time to recover before embarking on a new life.

  This brought a fresh fear to Agnes. She was well aware of the impetuosity of youth and she prayed Moss didn’t fill Billie’s head with the sense of urgency that was the downfall of so many good girls these days. The uncertainties of wartime, living for today because there mightn’t be a tomorrow . . . it had been more than one girl’s undoing. Marriage would never come into the conversation. She couldn’t help wondering how many casualties Moss Coleman had left behind. She only knew she didn’t want Billie added to the list. Billie was all she had. Billie was Agnes’s hope for the future. If only she knew more about Moss, it might ease her mind. He might even have a wife somewhere already!

  Billie came home from school and straight into the kitchen. “Mother, I’m home. Did Moss call, by any chance?”

  “No. Billie, you haven’t given any serious practice at that piano for weeks. You’re not being fair to me. The lessons are expensive and you have to do your part.”

  “I don’t want any more lessons. I’m never going to be a concert pianist and I don’t have time for it anymore. Tell Mr. Trazzori I want to stop. Stop, Mother, as in finish. No more. What are we having for dinner?”

  “Lamb chops. I managed to get four of them today. I had to stand in line over two hours. I wish this rationing would end.” Agnes spoke matter-of-factly, but she was shaken about Billie’s decision. Eleven years of study and practice gone to waste because of a cowboy. Even at college Billie would have continued her lessons, but it had been weeks since college was mentioned—the weeks since Moss Coleman had first come to the house. Suddenly Agnes blurted, “Billie, I have to talk to you. You still have two weeks of school left. I received a call this afternoon asking why you didn’t attend today. I want an explanation and I want it now.”

  “Mother, all the marks are in. Really, it isn’t important. I was with Moss. We took a ride up to the Jer
sey shore. There’s nothing to be upset about. Why is it so awful to skip school for once? Other kids do it all the time.”

  “That’s just it. You’ve never done anything like this. Billie, ever since you’ve met that fly-boy you’ve changed. You aren’t the same anymore, and I don’t like what I see. You’re spending entirely too much time with him.” She hated to ask, fearing the answer, but she had to do it. “Just how fond are you of this Moss Coleman?”

  “Mother, I wish you wouldn’t ask questions like that. I’m grown now, and it’s really none of your business.”

  “Oh, isn’t it my business! It’s my business when I have to lie to the school and tell them you’ve got the sniffles. As soon as I heard you weren’t in school, I knew whom you were with and I don’t like it.”

  “I’m a big girl now, Mother, and I can take care of myself. If you’re worried that I might... that I might . . .”

  Agnes spoke before she’d really found the words. “It’s not you who worries me. I know you’re a good girl. But that young man isn’t going to wait forever. Billie, do you understand what I’m saying?” There was an edge of desperation in Agnes’s tone.

  “Don’t worry, Mother.” Billie’s voice had softened in sympathy. If theirs was a more demonstrative relationship, she’d have given Agnes a hug to reassure her. “Moss hasn’t touched me. He kisses me good night, but so does Tim Kelly. I wish you’d trust me. You always have before. Why not now? What makes Moss so different in your eyes? Is it because he’s older?”

  I wish I knew, Agnes thought to herself. “Moss isn’t a boy, like Tim Kelly. He’s a man, and men have certain needs and desires.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about this.” Billie shifted her clear hazel eyes away from her mother. She didn’t need to be told about men’s desires; she’d already guessed at them, had experienced a taste of them in Moss’s strong embrace, in the hardness of his body as it pressed against hers so urgently. Billie had found the echo of those same needs in herself, and Moss knew it. That was why he kept pushing her away, muttering to himself under his breath. He knew that his was the only control.