“Not to me, she isn’t. She’s just one in a long line of many. Only she’s lasted longer. It’s my mother who should be embarrassed.”
“Do I detect an edge of bitterness, Maggie darling?” he said smoothly.
“Damn right I’m bitter. If my mother hadn’t been so lily-livered she would have put an end to my father’s philandering years ago and he would have been home where he belonged, being the kind of father he should have been.”
“Why, Maggie, do you realize that in those few words you’ve told me more about yourself than you have in our entire relationship? This has been quite revealing.”
Maggie’s eyes glowed with fury. “Has it, Sandor? I didn’t think, there was much you didn’t know about philandering husbands—being one yourself, I mean.” She allowed her statement to settle on him, enjoying the fact that for once the suave, sophisticated Sandor Locke seemed to be at a loss for words. It was more than apparent he wasn’t used to candor, especially where it concerned himself. “Thank you for lunch, Sandor. Can we leave now? I’ve an enormous amount of work waiting for me at the gallery.”
“Certainly.” Sandor peeled greenery from beneath a gold money clip, his brain whirring like a computer, sifting and storing facts. Maggie has said Texas. Coleman. Moss Coleman. Beef, oil, land, aviation, electronics, wealth, and power. Maggie was one of the Colemans. How interesting. He stored the information in his brain, knowing someday he might have to pull it out and look at it all again.
Leaning his elegant form against the frame of Maggie’s office door, Sandor Locke quietly observed her as she rifled through the paperwork on her desk. She was going through an emotional turmoil; he could see it on her face. He knew she was so caught up in her thoughts she wouldn’t have noticed him if he’d perched on the end of her desk. The yearning and regret in the summer-blue eyes startled him. He’d never quite seen that expression before now. Poor little lost black sheep. He was puzzled when he watched her shuffle a particular folio. Three times now she’d tossed it into a stack of others only to remove it. The sadness, the deep yearning, was replaced with bitter coldness when the particular folio was finally pushed to the bottom and covered with others. His eyebrows rose. This was Maggie’s department, and she was very good at what she did. He wasn’t about to ask questions and interfere.
Maggie Colman, and her flair and style, was a definite asset for the Locke Gallery. It was a lucky day when he’d heard she was interested in coming to work for him. He’d become quite fond of Maggie. She was an exciting woman and very attractive, with her honey skin and night-black hair, and more, she possessed a wit and natural charm that made her welcome into exclusive social circles. When she’d casually mentioned over cocktails one day that she was looking for a new apartment, he had come back with the offer to let her use the penthouse of the Locke Building while the owner was in Europe. At least that was the story he had told her. It was really his own apartment, which he reserved for private moments away from his wife and children. It was a wise man who didn’t tell Maggie Coleman everything. It wasn’t at all difficult for him to recognize certain traits in her that he possessed himself. She was sly, calculating, and manipulative. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if she’d known all along that the apartment was his. They had been enjoying their affair for almost a month when she had asked for a two-year lease. He had laughed. “Your rent is free. Why do you need a lease?”
“Because, Sandor, you’re just like me. One day you’ll wake up and say, ‘This is the day I have to unload Maggie.’ I’m not saying you’ll do it; I’m saying you could. I need a little edge, that’s all. And that doesn’t mean you move in with me, either. You can visit.”
He visited her on a regular basis and gave her an open lease. She could stay for as long as she liked.
“Maggie, darling, take a break. I want to talk to you for a moment,” he said from the doorway.
Maggie lifted her head, and immediately the pain and longing disappeared from her lovely face and she welcomed him with a bright smile. “I’d love a break, Sandor, but really, I’m swamped.” She indicated the work on her desk.
“Dinner?” Sandor prompted.
“I was sort of planning an evening at home.” Maggie continued sorting through papers. “Wash my hair and all that, you know.”
“Maggie, I want to see you.” There was not a plea in his tone but rather a command.
“All right, Sandor,” Maggie complied. “Tell you what. You bring dinner and I’ll cook it. We can lounge all evening with some wine and good music. Would you like that?”
Sandor’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He didn’t like Maggie’s knack for turning his demands into something she condescended, waiving the privileges of his rank and assuming a superior air. Back Maggie Coleman into a corner and she’d have you believe being there had been her intention all along. “I didn’t know you could cook, Maggie.”
She laughed. “I can broil or boil. Take your choice.”
“Steaks?”
“You’re talking to a Texas girl, so make sure you bring all the fixings. Shoo now. I want to finish this.”
Sandor felt his pressure rise. She had dismissed him. He was no longer in her thoughts or worthy of her consideration; it was as though he didn’t exist. No woman had ever treated him the way Maggie did, and by God, he was putting out for her. Anything she wanted he gave. Money, an apartment, a penthouse apartment, travel, gifts; hell, he even pleased her in bed, satisfying her hungry appetites each time she clamored for more. He was the perfect friend, boss, and lover. What more did she want? Something he couldn’t give her. Whatever it was Maggie yearned for, it wasn’t in his power to give. Poor little black sheep.
It was two weeks later when Maggie shuffled through her mail. A letter from Sawyer. The childish handwriting reminded her of her own years ago. She squinted at the sprawling letters with the exaggerated loops. Just like her own. They should have been sisters; Sawyer was much more Billie’s daughter than she would ever be her own. Sawyer was at Sunbridge enjoying all the things she herself could never have again. Maggie knew she shouldn’t be jealous, but she was. It was more than jealousy, it went deeper than that. It was all mingled with shame and disappointment and rejection.
Dear Maggie,
Grandmam told me to write you. We are coming to New York City next month. Grandmam is doing business. Do you think we could have lunch or go to the movies together? I would like that and so would Grand.
I love the Barbie doll you sent me. Grand has made me so many outfits for her that the other kids don’t have.
It was nice of you to send me the doll. How did you know I wanted one?
My friend Marjorie is so jealous that I’m going to New York. I wasn’t jealous when she went to California. It’s not good to be jealous because you cry at night. I like to go to sleep thinking about nice things.
My pencil needs a new point so I have to end this letter.
I love you, Maggie, with all my heart. I hope you love me a little bit, too. Grand says you do. Will you tell me that someday?
Love,
Sawyer
Maggie scrunched the letter into a ball. She opened it, reread it, and felt the tears begin. Dammit! Every time she was getting herself together she had another blow below the belt. The tears came then, great, ugly, choking sobs. When at last she lay on the sofa, spent of emotion, she folded the letter into a neat little square and slipped it into the pocket of her robe.
She reached for the phone. “Sandor, Maggie here. I’m glad I caught you in. Listen, I’ve some vacation coming. If the invitation is still open do you still want me to go to Europe with you?” She listened a moment. “I was hoping you’d say that. You will take care of the tickets and all those nasty little details? It’s only a month away, but already I can see Paris and feel the excitement.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Bittersweet memories attacked Thad as he settled back in the taxi on his way to the airport. He supposed he was getting old to have weddin
gs affect him this way. Or was it that he felt guilty for betraying Billie and Moss this way by being a party to Riley’s secret marriage? Secret to everyone in Texas, that was. He’d done his best to discourage Riley, but the young man would have none of it. So Thad had done some checking on Otami. Family background, reputation, everything was impeccable. If anything, Otami and her family were as wealthy—and even more respectable—than the Colemans. One way or another, Thad knew, Riley would have found some way to marry the girl he loved.
Inwardly he felt he’d done the right thing in securing permission for Riley and Otami to marry. One only had to look at them to know they were made for each other. Only once before had he seen the kind of love that shone in Riley’s eyes. It had been in Billie’s eyes the day she’d married Moss.
And it had been in Otami’s eyes today, as she’d married Riley in an entirely different kind of ceremony—two of them, in fact. First the Catholic service, where Otami had been the picture of innocent loveliness in her white dress; and then, later, a traditional Buddhist ceremony, where she had worn a kimono of bright red silk to denote her joy. Thad shook his head as he recalled those two beautiful faces bearing their undisguised love. That’s what it was all about, he knew—finding that kind of love. He had found it years ago with Billie, and despite all odds that love had survived.
“I think our wedding is over, Mrs. Coleman.” Riley grinned as the last of his friends piled into the car that was returning to NAS. “We have to thank the Santos again and tell them how wonderful everything was. It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t just wonderful, Riley. It was perfect. I hope you have no regrets about your family. Your uncle Thad is an amazing person. He’s very fond of you,” Otami said quietly.
Riley looked down at his new bride and noted the sparkle in her eyes. He knew he would kill to protect this fragile young woman. His wife. Jesus! Was she having regrets? Was she worried about the old uncle and her parents back in Japan? Maybe Thad could do something there. He’d have to give that some thought. “No regrets. Never regrets. You’re my life now. Uncle Thad is one in a million. When the time comes, if I can’t make it right back home, he will. It’s you I’m worried about. I hope the day never comes when you have second thoughts about marrying me. Families are important. Very important. One day you and I will have our own family.”
“Riley, from this day on, I don’t want either of us to talk about having regrets. If we’re to discuss family, let us do it in loving ways. One day they will see how right this is and then they will be happy for us. Perhaps not for a long time, but it will be all right as long as we have each other. Can we agree to that?”
“Anything you want. By the way, now that the car is gone, how are we going to get to the farmhouse you rented?”
“We could walk. It’s not far.” Otami giggled.
“Are you sure you want to stay there? It’s not too late to make arrangements for Hawaii,” Riley said anxiously.
“Darling, this farmhouse is perfect. Wait until you see the way I fixed it up. Nita helped me. When you see it you’ll know Hawaii cannot compare to it. On our first anniversary you can take me to Hawaii. I don’t want to stay in an impersonal hotel and I don’t want the long plane ride. I want to spend every hour of every day of your leave with you. I want to make breakfast for you with my dishes. I want you to dry them when I wash them. I want you to sleep in my bed, under the sheets that I embroidered. I want to hear you say what a marvel I am. I painted, hung drapes, scoured, and cleaned. I hung my painting from Hong Kong, and Nita’s brother drilled holes and we hung ferns all over the place. We did such a fantastic job you aren’t going to recognize the place. It’s where we belong for now,” Otami said shyly.
Riley was overwhelmed. She had done all this for him. All she wanted was him. Hawaii with all the glitz and glitter didn’t appeal to this precious person who was his wife. Ten days of togetherness. Paradise.
It was Nita’s youngest brother who finally found a truck in running order to transport the newlyweds to the farmhouse. Riley and Otami took one look at it and burst out laughing.
“It runs,” Carlos smirked. “I lease it for a dollar a year. The springs are gone and the brakes are so-so.”
Riley stood back to get a better look at the truck. Once it had been white. It wasn’t the rust, nicks, or scratches that concerned him. In the bed of the truck there were two metal chairs with what looked like thirty-three coats of paint on them. Each was tied to the metal sides with stout rope. “I’m game if you are.” Otami nodded as she gathered up the skirt of her long white gown and, with the help of her new husband and Carlos, settled herself on one of the chairs. Riley, in his crisp navy whites, settled himself on the other chair. “I think this is where we hold on for dear life and pray that we get to the farm. You’d think the owner would provide seat belts.”
“Carlos, you will take our picture, please,” Otami said seriously as she sat primly with her hands folded in her lap. “For our children one day.” She grinned at Riley.
“Absolutely.”
The truck backed out of the rutted driveway and careened down the road. Riley shouted to be heard over the rattling. “Always remember that I love you!”
“I will remember!” Otami shouted back as the truck screeched around the corner.
Eight houses up from the San Juan deBautiste Church, Carlos swung into a long driveway. A wooden sign tacked to a banyan tree read RILEY AND OTAMI COLEMAN.
“What happened to the jungle?” Riley asked in awe.
“You are pleased. Then it was worth it. Carlos and his brothers cut it back, and now the house can be seen from the road. It was important that our friends be able to find us. We have a lawn now. See, over there, that’s a fern patch. Farther down in the back is a bamboo bed. I will show it to you tomorrow. There is a wonderful place there, a glade of sorts that would be perfect for lovemaking.”
Riley laughed. “I thought you were shy.”
“I wanted you to think that. I am really bold and brazen and I plan to devour you one hour from now.”
Carlos handed over the key to Riley with a flourish. “You might need transportation,” he said briskly. “It’s only a short walk back to my house. Call on the padre if you need anything; he’s at the bottom of the hill.”
Trying desperately to keep a straight face, Otami thanked Carlos for the use of the truck. If she had anything to do with it, the truck would remain in the same position for the entire ten-day honeymoon. Riley winked at her. So, they thought alike. Good. But then, she had known that almost from the first day.
“What do you think, Mr. Coleman?” Otami said with her hands on her hips. “Carlos and Frank painted the house. See how it gleams. We were unsure of the maroon trim, but it makes the house noticeable from the road now that it’s been cleared.”
It was a small concrete house with a flat roof. Riley considered it trim and neat. By Texas standards it would have accommodated little more than a tractor or a horse and one groom. It suited him perfectly. It looked right and it felt right. Otami had known, bless her heart.
Riley reached down for Otami’s hand and together they walked to the carport with its concrete overhead roof. Colorful blooms in bright clay pots hung from the beams. “We will eat breakfast here. And lunch and dinner, if you like. You will be in charge of carrying in the cushions if it rains.”
“Ordering me about already, are you?”
“Yes. It is to be a fifty-fifty relationship. You will do what I tell you.” Otami giggled. “You said your favorite colors were yellow and green, and I paid attention when it was time to stitch the pillows. Can you smell the new paint on the table and chairs?”
“I can hardly notice. You are the marvel in marvelous, Mrs. Coleman. It’s time for me to carry you over the threshold. We want this to be right from the beginning.”
“It is right. Can’t you feel it?” Otami asked as she snuggled against Riley’s chest.
“This is going to be tricky.”
Riley grinned. “If I’m holding you, how can I open the door?” Otami squirmed in his arms and leaned down to open the door. “It’s stuck.”
“Aha, so you aren’t perfect after all,” Riley chortled. “You should have had the presence of mind to rub soap on the sides of the door. Or oil. Or better yet, installed a screen door. Now I have to set you down and try to open this door. Is it locked?”
“No one locks doors here. It must be the humidity that makes it stick. I am so sorry. I spoiled the moment.”
“Shhh,” Riley said, laying a finger on her lips. “I was teasing. You haven’t spoiled anything. I’ll have this door opened in a second and we can get back on track.”
Twenty minutes later the door was still stuck. Riley was huffing and puffing and sweat was running down his face. “It looks like you’re going to have to climb through the bathroom window. You’re tiny enough. I’ll remove the louvers and push you through.”
“And what happens if I can’t get the door open from the inside,” Otami asked anxiously.
“Then I’ll blow a hole in the damn house. Or drive that ridiculous truck through the front window. Don’t worry. I’ll get in.”
An hour later, Otami, with her gown tied in a knot about her waist, was standing on the kitchen counter removing the glass louvers. She poked and jabbed at the screen until it fell out. Riley climbed in the kitchen window and they both collapsed on the counter laughing and giggling. “I can’t believe that Carlos varnished the door and then closed it. This is going to be the only way in and out until I can pry it open.”
“We aren’t going anywhere.”
“That’s true. The hell with the door. When we’re old and gray we can tell our children and grandchildren that instead of me carrying you over the threshold I was forced to push you through a tiny bathroom window. Two more pounds, Mrs. Coleman, and you wouldn’t have made it. But we’re alone. We’re finally alone.”
Texas Rich Page 58
