Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

  “I can’t ask more of the men than they’ve given. To come so close, so far, and not be able—”

  “Grandfather, do something,” Riley cried. “Make it right.”

  The elder Hasegawa placed a gentle hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “It is out of my hands, my grandson.”

  “I don’t believe that, Father. There must be something. You have always been the perfect father with the perfect solution for everything. It can’t all have been for nothing. We can’t lose now,” Otami cried as she clutched at her father. “Please, think of something.”

  “We need an extra day in March. Just twenty-four hours. That’s all,” Riley cried childishly.

  “Enough! I will look into the matter but can make no promises,” the Japanese said formally as he withdrew from the room.

  “Why do I feel as though I’ve failed?” Sawyer cried brokenly.

  “You didn’t fail. Things got in the way. You did magnificently,” Rand said loyally. The others chorused their agreement. “Come along, back to the hangar. We have work to do. No one went home tonight. The crew is sleeping in three-hour shifts.”

  Billie sat down with a thump and buried her face in her hands. Surely they couldn’t lose now. Otami put her arms around Billie’s shoulders. Riley sat across from her. “Grandfather will find a way. I know he will.”

  “My father is a remarkable man, Mother Coleman. If it is humanly possible to make this right, he will. He will feel he must do it for our honor. We must all think positively.”

  Billie nodded.

  They worked like Trojans for the remaining days. Thad arrived to offer his help and input. Billie rarely saw him and when she did he was so tired she could do no more than kiss his cheek and cover him with a blanket while he slept his allotted shift. Everything was the dream now. Nothing else mattered.

  March 31 arrived all too soon. Sawyer was gaunt and red-eyed. Rand, at her side, looked no better. Everyone seemed to move in slow motion, Billie thought as she entered the hangar to seek out Sawyer. “Will you make it?”

  “No. We need another two shifts. I did everything by the book. We didn’t allow for the human element. . . . Grandpap didn’t tell me that. Eighteen hours, that’s all. My God, Grand, I can’t believe it.”

  At six o’clock that evening Shadaharu Hasegawa entered the hangar, a smile on his face. He closeted himself with Riley and Sawyer in her makeshift office for eight minutes, and when they emerged Sawyer’s red eyes were sparkling as she waved an airy arm in Billie’s direction. It was going to be all right.

  “Thank you, God,” Billie whispered. “Thank you.”

  The time was one hour past dawn. The calendar said it was April 1, but Riley’s grandfather had proclaimed an extra day in the month of march. The Hasegawa newspapers in Tokyo carried the date of March 32, and newspapers didn’t lie.

  It seemed the world watched Moss Coleman’s dream that day. Present were the Hasegawa family, the entire crew, Sawyer, Billie, and Thad. The media stood in a roped-off area ready to record the progress of the slant-winged silver bird.

  Sawyer in her greasy coverall and visored cap stared into the sun. She ran half the distance to the runway and gave Rand a thumbs-up salute. Rand blew her a kiss and climbed into the cockpit.

  As the plane started its glide down the runway, Billie blessed herself and whispered, “Rest easy, Moss. In a few minutes it will be history.”

  Strong arms enveloped her and she leaned back against Thad’s chest. “Remember your promise,” he said close to her ear. “Win or lose, fly or not, we get married tomorrow.”

  “I’ve been dreaming about my promise for a lifetime,” she told him.

  The dull roar of the engines exploded in the air as Rand taxied onto the far end of the runway. Billie stood in the circle of Thad’s arms, fingers crossed, eyes lifted heavenward. “In just a few minutes we’ll know.”

  “Do you mean we’ll know if it was all worth it?”

  “No. Everything, every joy, every tear, has been worth it for my whole life to bring me here with you today.”

  He kissed her cheek, holding fast to this woman whom he had loved for the whole of his life.

  Billie turned to face Thad, her hazel eyes smiling into his. Overhead, Rand was airborne and holding steady. “Sometimes, Thad, I see questions in your eyes. Don’t you know that some loves are for yesterday and others are forever?”

  The light from her smile obliterated the shadows in his heart. “That’s how I love you, Billie. Yesterday and forever.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Maggie Coleman caught a glimpse of her reflection in the pier glass. The image staring back at her made her gasp. She looked like a bag lady without the shopping bags. Her hand went to her hair and then to her cheek. What day was it? She had to stop and think, to try to calculate the month as well as the day.

  How long ago had it been since her husband had left her? A year, six months? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She didn’t feel his loss, would never feel it. It was over.

  Pap’s dream, that was over, too. The silver bird had flown beautifully off into the wild blue yonder with Rand at the controls. Sawyer must have convinced him to test the plane. Hate rushed through her veins at the knowledge that Sawyer had been the one responsible for making Pap’s dream come true. Mam had called her excitedly from Japan, expecting Maggie to rejoice with her. Despite everything—the court injunctions and legal blockades to prevent Mam from squandering everything on that damn plane—she still expected her daughters to share in the glory. The lady certainly knew how to dish out the guilt.

  Everyone was gone now. Pap was gone, Mam was gone, Sawyer was gone, her husband was gone. Coleman was away at military school, and she only saw him at Christmas and for the last two weeks in August. Stolen from her; everything in her life that should have been hers had been stolen from her. It hurt, and she had cried—for days, for weeks, for months. She was, still crying, still trying to bandage her wounds, but there wasn’t a Band-Aid large enough to ease the monstrous pain that attacked her twenty hours out of every day. The years, where had they gone? How had she lived through them?

  Maggie’s vision blurred momentarily as she looked around frantically for the vodka bottle. The clear liquid always made things better, or at least dulled the pain so that it didn’t hurt quite so much.

  There it was, on the night table, right next to the letter from old Dudley Abramson that had been sitting unopened for several days. She filled the tumbler to the rim and stared at the stark white envelope for a long moment before tossing it into the wastebasket. She didn’t need his advice, or his criticism! She didn’t care what he had to say. “You just wasted a stamp, you old buzzard,” she said aloud.

  A few minutes later she fished in the wastebasket and withdrew the letter. Maybe she should open it and see what it said. She was practically sober; she could handle it. She took a deep breath, ripped the envelope open, and stared with unbelieving eyes at the three pieces of paper in her hand. It was the key taped to the deed to Sunbridge that made her sink to the bed. The letter itself was short:

  Dear Mrs. Tanner:

  As per your parents’ instructions, I am forwarding to you a fully executed deed to Sunbridge. The key is taped to the deed. Sunbridge now legally belongs to you.

  I would like to take this time to remind you the taxes were due the first of April.

  If there is anything the firm can do for you, please feel free to call upon us.

  Yours truly,

  Dudley Abramson

  Maggie’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely get her father’s letter out of the unsealed envelope. It was handwritten, a jerky, uneven scrawl. The date on the single sheet of paper showed it had been written a week before his death.

  Dear Maggie,

  I can’t go to that unknown place that awaits all of us until I do this one last thing. I hope and pray the time comes when Mr. Abramson will feel confident enough to forward this, my last word, to you. Your mother and I
have spoken at great length about my intention of deeding Sunbridge to you. She has promised that if at all possible, she will not put Sunbridge up for auction but will turn it over to you. If, for some reason, it does have to be sold, I wanted you to know of my intentions. Our lives are full of uncertainties these days, but we must not dwell on them; we must all move forward, you most of all, Maggie.

  Soul-searching has become a necessary pastime these last weeks. Old hurts can never be rectified. The ache in me for what I missed is more painful than the illness controlling my body. Forgiveness is something I have always taken for granted. I find it impossible to believe you will forgive me, but your mother assures me you will. I truly regret, dear Maggie, that I was so blind to your needs. I will carry that regret with me to eternity.

  Only you, Maggie, can fill Sunbridge with love, life, humor, beautiful music, and wondrous words, because you care. Bring your son here, Maggie, and make a new life for yourself. I know a Higher Being will allow me to watch over you here in this place we call Sunbridge. Trust me, Maggie. You are part of my life, my love, my daughter. Be happy.

  Pap

  Maggie threw herself on the bed and howled. The huge four-poster rocked with the force of her sobs. When her release was complete she wiped her face with the corner of the bedspread. Her smile, when it came, was as radiant as the first golden sun of summer.

  Four hours later Maggie Coleman Tanner was Texas bound.

  She was going home.

  The key clenched in her hand was all the proof she needed that this wasn’t all some kind of dream.

  The rental car ground to a stop and Maggie was out in an instant. There it was. Home. What a wonderful, glorious word.

  The key slid into the lock. She turned the handle and the door swung open. The first thing her tired eyes saw was the four-peg hatrack holding three Stetsons. Seth, Pap, Riley. She knew in her heart that the last peg had been ordained for her son, Coleman. His Stetson would hang there just as soon as that military school could send him here.

  Home to Sunbridge.

  The Coleman family’s story continues in

  TEXAS HEAT

  Read on for a special excerpt.

  A Kensington eClassic on sale March 2013!

  PROLOGUE

  Sawyer Coleman watched the patterns the lazy California sun created on her cluttered desk. It had been weeks now since she’d seen the shiny cherrywood surface. Papers were strewn into haphazard piles, pencils with broken points, pens with chewed tops, all signs of overwork and frustration. She really should hire an assistant, someone to help with the load, but no one had ever satisfied her and she loathed having to check and recheck someone else’s work. She had admitted to herself a long time ago that she was a workaholic, but lately she seemed to meet herself coming and going.

  Heaving a sigh, Sawyer ran her long, manicured fingers through her wealth of golden-blond hair. There was no getting away from it; the work had to be done, and she was the best one for the job. Coleman Aviation was a family-held enterprise, a leader in manufacturing and designing small private jet planes, and she was the only one with the background and education to handle the growing company.

  There were those about her, in the outer offices, who said Sawyer was too dedicated, too persnickety. She’d just heard that one the other day. Persnickety, for God’s sake. The only thing she was certain of was that it wasn’t complimentary.

  Sawyer rummaged in her top drawer for cigarettes and lit one. She rarely smoked, usually only in tense situations or as a ploy to stall for time. She was doing both now. Stalling because she didn’t want to look at the invitation a second time, and tense because she hadn’t heard from Rand in over two weeks. That alone was enough to make her itchy. Add that to Maggie’s invitation and she could become a basket case within the hour.

  Mother Maggie. Maggie, mistress of Sunbridge. Maggie the man-eater. Maggie, her own mother. Sawyer grimaced.

  She was up and out of her chair, smoothing the soft gray flannel skirt over her trim hips. At the window she fixed her gaze on the bright ball in the sky. Aztec gold, she thought inanely as she puffed furiously on the cigarette she didn’t want. The invitation was for a command appearance, a return to Sunbridge to watch Maggie preen. But there was more to it. Maggie needed the family’s approval to take the helm. Bad girl Maggie returns to the scene of her crime but is forgiven. Sawyer laughed and choked on the cigarette smoke, sputtering until tears came to her eyes.

  Grand would probably call soon, by tomorrow the latest. Then the others. And Rand, she thought with sudden hope, yes, Rand would call. Long-distance relationships were hell, overseas relationships even worse.

  Damn, now her whole day was ruined. Why couldn’t Maggie have sent the invitation and her chatty little bull-crap letter to the apartment instead of the office? Communication with Maggie shouldn’t be so upsetting after all these years, but it was. She wished she had a hide too thick for Maggie to penetrate. What she did have was a sore, bruised heart that would never heal.

  Family reunions should be outlawed. There was no way she could escape the invitation. She’d just have to put a good face on it. Seeing young Riley again would be worth a confrontation with Maggie. And to see Rand and spend time with him, she’d travel to Africa if necessary.

  Rand. Her life, her love. Without Rand in her life, there would be nothing but endless days of work and endless nights alone. It was time to think about settling down, time to think seriously about marriage. Just the thought excited her and made her feel warm all over. Her work could be done just as well in London.

  Quickly, before she could change her mind, she scrawled a note of acceptance to the July fourth bash. Later, when it was all over, the family would all say what a good sport Sawyer was. Good old Sawyer. Sawyer didn’t bleed red blood like everyone else. Sawyer just hurt and ached inside, but the wounds didn’t show.

  Having Rand to herself would make up for everything. Just his smile would drive Maggie from her thoughts. Rand was all she needed, now and forever.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Today would be one of Sunbridge’s finest hours. Tomorrow’s newspapers would carry each detail, right down to what the waitresses were wearing. When Sunbridge had a party, it was news, but when Sunbridge hosted a Texas-style barbecue, it was even bigger news. The family would comè, and an impressive showing of some of Texas’s most influential people. Maggie Coleman Tanner’s smile widened. Funny the way she always personified Sunbridge, as though it were a living entity. In some ways it was. Sunbridge had been her past, and now it would be her future.

  Maggie’s eyes, blue as the winter sky, took in the flurry of activity below the bedroom balcony. Servants, caterers, waitresses—a whole passel of them, as old Seth would say—were getting her first barbecue under way. The fatted calf, the return of the prodigal child, Maggie thought. She herself was the prodigal, but could a prize longhorn steer qualify as a fatted calf?

  She had ordered red-and-white checkered picnic cloths and matching napkins from Neiman Marcus by the dozens. She also vaguely recalled ordering two hundred wicker bread baskets that went for forty bucks a shot. Lobster flown in from Maine, shrimp, crab, and beef, all the accoutrements of a successful bash. The theme might be “country,” but there wasn’t anything provincial about her guests’ tastes. It would be her way of showing them all that she was one of them, that the years she’d lived in New York hadn’t been spent under a rock. She’d traveled in sophisticated circles where conversations centered on the theater, the stock market, and the new exhibit at the Guggenheim—conversations in the abstract. Here in Texas, the topics were more to the point—money, oil, beef, and more money, and not necessarily in that order. The crystal wineglasses winked up at her in the bright sunlight, reminding her that while Texans liked to pretend a “down-home” style of living, they were all smart enough and rich enough to know Baccarat from Cristal d’Arques.

  Old Grandpap was probably turning over in his grave. His idea of a barbecue was beer on tap and r
ed beans and rice, his patronizing attempt at being a “common man who made good.” No one would have dared criticize if he’d chosen to serve good bourbon in paper cups; Seth Coleman was too important and influential to offend. On a whim, he could make or break a man and his fortunes, and there was no telling when the old codger would take it into his head to lead you to ruin just for the hell of it.

  Things were different now. Old Seth was dead and buried and Maggie was mistress of Sunbridge. This party was just a way of driving that point home. Home. God, it felt wonderful to be back at Sunbridge. No, that was wrong. It felt wonderful to finally belong at Sunbridge.

  All her invitations had been accepted; everyone would be here—half of Texas, not that she gave a damn about them, and the family.

  Maggie leaned over the railing. This party was costing a fortune and she wasn’t even truly certain why she was throwing it. What was she trying to prove, and to whom? Living here, holding the deed, that was the real proof of who was the owner of Sunbridge. Why did she feel this need to flaunt her ownership? Or was it really because she needed to show the world that she’d finally won her father’s approval, that Pap had thought enough of her in the end to leave his beloved Sunbridge to her, and to no one else? By God, Sunbridge was her birthright! Sawyer had taken it away from her. Her daughter had lived at Sunbridge almost her entire life, while she, Maggie, had been banished. Now Sawyer would be returning as a guest in Maggie’s home. That had to be some kind of divine justice.