Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

  Maggie stared off into the distance at the softly rising knoll overlooking the front of the house. All the white cross-fencing and rich golden meadows belonged to Sunbridge. A possessive heat blazed in her. This was Coleman land, her land, and it was alive again because she was home again. She could feel the power of this place. Two hundred and fifty thousand acres of prime land, Coleman land, and she would make it grow and prosper and flourish. She could almost understand what had kept old Seth going all those years. It was Sunbridge, the vigor of the land beating through his veins. His authority had gone unchallenged; he’d been supreme ruler, the invincible force that had built it and loved it and mastered it. Seth, meanest old man who ever took a breath, mean enough to depose his own grandchild. Sunbridge had been meant to go from Seth to his son Moss and then to his grandson Riley. Her sister Susan and she were insignificant females, worthless to him. “Do you see me now, old man?” she said, focusing on the gently sloping knoll where he was buried. “I’m here now, where I belong, where I’ve always belonged.”

  Coleman Tanner, Maggie’s son, walked on cat’s feet to stand behind his mother. He knew he could wait there for an hour and she wouldn’t be aware of him until she turned and actually saw him. It was only Sunbridge, this place, that interested her. All her talk of his belonging, of hanging his Stetson on the peg near the front door beside those of his great-grandfather, grandfather, and uncle, was just bullshit. The hat was dumb, just like everything else in Texas. When he did wear it, it was only to humor her. Half the time he didn’t know where it was, but somehow his mother always managed to find it and hang it on its appropriate peg.

  Coleman was never certain if he should intrude upon his mother when she was alone like this. “Alone” wasn’t quite the word to describe these moods of hers, when she seemed to close herself in with her thoughts. Insulated would be closer to the truth—insulated against everything outside herself, including her own son. When he was younger, it used to hurt and wound him; now it only made him mad. At school, the other boys would comment on how beautiful she was—gleaming dark hair worn just above her shoulders, falling softly around her face to contrast sharply with her crystal blue eyes. He’d even seen some of his instructors watching her slim figure when they thought no one was looking. And there was no smile like his mother’s smile—open, bright, and genuine. When she laughed, her eyes would sparkle and the corners of her mouth would turn up and crinkle. She was beautiful —Coleman had always thought her so—but none of that beauty belonged to him. She was a stranger, and it had been so long since she’d smiled for him, really for him.

  Coleman wasn’t certain what Maggie was thinking about, but he did know her thoughts weren’t on him. She hadn’t even been available to pick him up from the airport when he’d returned from school three days ago. Some anonymous chauffeur had met him promptly upon his arrival, instead. She’d explained by saying she’d lost all track of time, what with planning the party and everything. On and on she’d explained, and he’d let her. He liked it when she got flustered and tried to apologize for something she thought she’d done wrong. That meant he could usually get what he wanted out of her without hardly trying.

  Cole was growing and, in time, promised to be taller than any of the Colemans, thanks to his father. His eyes and nose were Cranston Tanner’s, the father he rarely saw, but his strong chin and square white teeth and wide, generous smile came from his mother’s side of the family. Maybe his feet, too, but no one seemed certain. A size-thirteen shoe at the age of sixteen was something no one wanted to discuss. He wore his light brown hair close to the head, in a military butch, and he thought it made him look like a boiled owl. But his mother said he looked just like the pictures of her father when he had finished boot camp.

  Cole wondered when he’d gain weight. Lean instead of slim, they’d put him on a bodybuilding regimen at school, but so far it didn’t seem to be working, no matter how much he busted his hump. He did it because it was required of him, just like he did everything at that rotten school. He hated it, hated the regimentation, the other boys, the uniform, the instructors, and the pomp and circumstance, yet he excelled in everything. Once, the major had told his mother he was the nearest to a perfect student he’d ever seen.

  Maggie had done her motherly duty and smiled and sort of hugged him. But she didn’t really give a damn, Cole thought. She was just concerned with appearances. Get rid of the kid, pay the duty calls and the bills, and then turn on the mother act for vacations. Like now. Fourth of July. Barbecue time. A real Sunbridge shindig, she was calling it. He’d heard about them for years, but he’d never attended one. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be here now. He felt like an intruder. This would never be his.

  He was expected to dress Western; that’s what Maggie called it. Western-cut jeans and shirts and boots that pinched his toes. That pissed him off. Wearing a military uniform ten months of the year was bad enough, and now he had to wear another costume. Nothing made him feel like himself, not the uniform or this dude ranch crap. He wanted to pick out his own clothes, like his Brooks Brothers tassled loafers and the other designer things that hung in his closet, things he seldom got to wear.

  “For someone who’s about to throw the biggest party in Texas, you look worried, Mother,” Coleman said suddenly.

  Maggie whirled. “Coleman! You startled me. . . . And how many times have I asked you to call me Mam? You used to, when you were a little boy.”

  She was jabbing at him. It was always like this; he saw it as her way of keeping him at a distance. Never answer a question directly; never say what you were thinking. Instead, launch the attack. But why was he the enemy?

  “It’s probably hereditary. You insist on calling me Cole-nian, when you know that Cole is the name I prefer. I’ve told you enough times.” Coleman’s voice was deep, and always shocked Maggie these days. Somehow it didn’t go with his gangling youth.

  “Touché. It’s just that you are a Coleman, and I don’t want either of us, or anyone else for that matter, to forget it.”

  “How could you forget? It’s all you ever talk about or think about. I know you’ll take back the Coleman name when the divorce becomes final. Don’t worry about it, Mother. Everyone knows who we are; changing your name isn’t going to prove a thing.” Coleman’s voice was accusing; a smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  Maggie appraised her son. He was a Coleman—not in looks, but certainly in his ability to cut straight through to the quick. She knew he was reminding her of her alcohol dependency, of her failures as a mother, and saying that nothing, neither Sunbridge nor changing her name, would ever erase those facts. He was a boy, she reminded herself. What did he know? She grimaced. At his age she’d been older than Methuselah and more knowing. At his age she’d already given birth to Sawyer, who had reaped all the benefits she and her son had been denied. Until now. Things were going to be very different with her in charge. Somehow she had to make Coleman understand, make him see that this was where his roots were.

  “This is where I belong, son, and so do you. Sunbridge was built for the Colemans.”

  “Maybe for you, Mother, but not for me. My name is Tanner and it always will be. This is just a place, not a way of life—not my life, anyway.” There was anger in his gray eyes, carefully restrained bitterness in his tone. “I don’t like Texas and this hokey cowboy crap. I don’t like the clothes you make me wear and that stupid hat. I don’t want to be here; I want to go to Europe.”

  “You want to do what?” Maggie shrilled.

  Cole snorted, his fine brows arching upward. “I thought as much. Don’t you ever read the notices they send from school? My French class is going to Europe till the end of August. I signed up and even paid the deposit.”

  Maggie turned back to the balcony to hide her confusion. For a long moment she watched the activity taking place below. Vaguely, she remembered something about a trip. But she hadn’t given her permission; of that she was certain. Why did he have to bring this up now,
when she was preoccupied with her family and herself? Her eyes narrowed. Was it possible there was more of Pap in her son than she realized? This sudden announcement in the midst of an argument was like something her father would have pulled. If she gave Coleman her permission to go to Europe, he’d be perfectly behaved at her party, showing family and friends their close, loving relationship. He’d be the perfect son and grandson, warm to Amelia and charming to Susan. He’d pretend to be Sawyer’s adoring half brother. But if she didn’t play his game, this cranky, selfish son of hers would show his true colors.

  It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t she make him see that all this was for him, too, to make him a part of the family, to lay his birthright at his feet? This was her party—she’d chosen the Fourth of July weekend for the barbecue to symbolize her freedom from the past, her own independence. She couldn’t allow a sixteen-year-old boy to spoil it for her. She turned to face Coleman, watching him, knowing he was waiting her out, confident he would win, as always. Not this time, she thought. There were new rules now. “Why don’t I take this matter under consideration and let you know my decision after the party?”

  Coleman bristled. He hadn’t expected this, and he understood perfectly. Behave, act the perfect son, and maybe, just maybe, she’d give him permission for the trip. He didn’t like it, but he was caught, trapped, and he would have to play the game by her rules. He nodded, giving his agreement, and knew he was dismissed when his mother’s eyes returned to the scene below.

  Coleman left the room, closing the door behind him. She’d have her way—for the time being, at least. But if she thought she’d keep him here at Sunbridge, trapped under her thumb and exchanging the excitement of a trip to Europe for “down-home” living, sweating horses, and ignorant Texans, she had another think coming.

  She wanted him to belong to Sunbridge. He’d never belonged anywhere except military school. He used to feel ashamed that his parents had no time for him, that they didn’t want him around, until he’d realized the other boys had almost identical problems. Once his adviser had convinced him he could become a man, a real soldier, without his parents, he’d felt better. “Be independent; heft that gun, soldier. You’re ten years old now. Act like a man.”

  After that, Coleman didn’t cry into his pillow at night when his shoulder hurt from carrying the heavy rifle. He’d suffered the black-and-blue marks from the rifle’s kick during target practice without a whimper. He’d worked himself up in rank, becoming one of the youngest platoon leaders, forcing himself and his men to do extra marches, score higher marks, achieve more awards.

  By the time he was twelve, he’d been promoted twice. Rank, he discovered early on, carried untold privileges, and he’d learned to use each and every one to his own advantage. He knew how to wheel and deal, to hustle the lower classmen and strike fear into the skinny little boys with their glasses and protruding teeth. Coleman liked power. At the end of the term he was acknowledged as the undisputed head of E Wing, Zone five. Now, how was it going to look if he didn’t go on this European trip because his mommy said no?

  When Cole closed the door behind him, Maggie’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t allow him to ruin things for her, but she couldn’t give in to him, either. He was still a child, looking to her for direction and challenging her at the same time. Coleman was so different from her younger brother, Riley. At sixteen, Riley had been warm and caring, his gentle, unspoiled nature and charismatic charm attracting people to him. Anyone who knew Riley loved him. He’d been all the things her son wasn’t and probably never would be.

  Maggie didn’t need anyone to tell her where she’d failed Coleman. Caught up in her own life, her own despairs, she’d never really been there for him. How could she have handled a small boy’s problems when she hadn’t been able to cope with her own? And her marriage to Cranston had been on a downhill slide for the past seven years. She’d hung on, telling herself that she had to keep the family together for Coleman’s sake. In truth, she’d hung on so long because there was nowhere else to go, no one else to go to. That Maggie Coleman Tanner hadn’t liked herself very much, and her low self-esteem had only added to her fears of being alone. As long as Cranston hadn’t made any moves to end their marriage, neither had she. But at last her self-loathing had spilled over onto Cranston, and after she’d started drinking too much as well, he’d left her.

  Maggie shook her head as though to clear it. She didn’t want to think about all that now, not today. She’d come a long way from that desperate, unhappy woman. She was still uncertain about this new person she wanted to become, but she’d taken long strides. Pap leaving Sunbridge to her had done that—given her a kind of assurance that she did belong somewhere, that she was loved, that she hadn’t been overlooked by the one person who’d been more important to her than any other. Pap. All her life she’d wanted his approval, his love. She’d been such a mixed-up kid and then such a hostile, mixed-up woman. But she was determined to change all that, and now, for the first time, she felt success was within her grasp. No, she wouldn’t think about Coleman now; she wouldn’t let anything spoil this day.

  The colorful Japanese lanterns strung around the front yard were perfect. They wound in and out of Grandmam Jessica’s rose garden and down toward the long, winding drive. They’d be lighted at dusk, just as the guests began to arrive. That’s when the orchestra would begin to play, and later on, when the food was served, the piano player would pound out Scott Joplin tunes in accompaniment to a banjo. Billie would probably choke when she saw the ice sculpture of a rearing stallion where champagne would cascade through transparent tubes. Maggie shrugged. Tacky, of course, but expected. It would keep Austin buzzing for weeks.

  The hot July sun beat down with merciless intensity, and she was glad she’d chosen the colorful striped tent awnings that sprawled across the lawns. It all looked so gay. Funny how something as banal as acres of yellow-and-white canvas could make her feel so good. The surprise of the evening would be the special fireworks that would be displayed over the pond behind the house. Even Coleman would approve of the millions of starbursts that would light up Sunbridge at midnight.

  A stray breeze caressed Maggie’s shoulder. Soon it would be time to dress for the family’s arrival. She planned to wear one of her mother’s original designs, a Christmas gift. She loved the filmy rainbow creation and had been saving it for a special occasion. Wait till Mam saw her. Billie’s eyes would light and she’d smile that warm, loving smile.

  When Maggie had first gotten the idea for this party, she’d never realized it would become so important to her. For weeks now she’d lived with only one thought—the reunion. Even Coleman’s homecoming had taken second place to the business of preparing Sunbridge for today. She’d had to send a chauffeur to the airport to meet Coleman instead of driving in herself; then she’d been late getting home from town and had missed his arrival. When she had at last returned home, he’d waved lazily in her general direction and gone back to reading his book. She did go up and hug him, but he’d been stiff and unyielding, punishing her for her oversight. She’d made a mental note to work harder at her relationship with Coleman, but he resisted her so, and rejection still came hard to Maggie.

  Perhaps young Riley would be a steadying influence on Coleman. She was eager to see her brother’s son. Not long ago she would have had to admit that she wanted him here to assuage the guilt she felt over her brother’s death. But now she knew she wanted to share some part of Sunbridge with Riley. He was her nephew and a member of the family.

  She remembered the day Billie had called to tell her Otami had been killed in an automobile accident in Tokyo. All the old guilt had come rushing back then, until she’d literally been sick to her stomach. First Riley and then his lovely Japanese wife. Only young Riley was left. His Japanese grandparents had taught Maggie something about unselfishness and generosity. Immersed as they were in their grief, it would have been understandable for them to keep Riley all to themselves. Instead, they wanted him to
come to America to take his place as a Coleman, to become a part of his heritage. Wisely, they realized they wouldn’t live forever. What would become of their precious grandson after they’d gone? “For as long as he needs to be there,” Billie had said. It was more than all right with Maggie. The last time she’d seen the boy, she’d seen how much he resembled his father. And she’d been terribly flattered that Billie would trust her to care for Riley, the only child of her only son.

  A sudden breeze, stronger and different in character from before, chilled Maggie. Nothing, not even an act of God or nature, was going to spoil this party. She looked to the sky, still crystal-blue, only a rare puffy white cloud scudding across the horizon.

  Maggie was feeling restless; and the confrontation with Coleman hadn’t helped. She glanced at her watch; it was still too early to dress. On a sudden impulse, she kicked off her high-heeled sandals and ran through the house and outside, heading for the stables in search of Lotus, her favorite mare.

  Lotus nickered in anticipation of a run when she recognized Maggie. Maggie bridled the roan and led her to the mounting post. She hiked up her skirt, straddled Lotus’s satiny back, dug her bare heels into the mare’s flanks, and was off. A startled groom stared after her, then shrugged. Lotus needed a run.

  Maggie took Lotus at a fast canter, following the white cross-fencing circumventing the back corrals and pastures, taking the full circuit until they approached the knoll overlooking the front acres of Sunbridge. Lotus knew her way, head held erect with confidence, obeying the urgings of her mistress.

  Once upon the knoll, Maggie slid from Lotus’s back. First it was her grandmother Jessica she visited. Then it was Seth, and then Agnes. Pap was always last. The best was always saved for last.

  While Lotus cropped the fresh green grass, Maggie went to Jessica’s headstone, reaching out to follow the deeply chiseled letters of her name. She’d never really known her grandmother; Jessica had died when Maggie was only an infant, but Billie had often mentioned what a kind and gentle soul she’d been. Seth would grumpily agree with Billie, then add his own interpretation. “Timid is what she was, no grit!” Seth, cantankerous old man who’d ruled Sunbridge with an iron hand. Dead now, but never forgotten. Maggie grimaced when she looked to the left of his tombstone. Nessie, Seth’s first horse, and then Nessie II and then Nessie III. It was obscene that three horses should rest in the family cemetery, but Seth would have it no other way, and no one else seemed to mind. Maggie had no fond memories of any of them—not Jessica, whom she’d never known; not Seth, who had condemned and banished her; not Agnes, who’d been a flesh-and-blood buzz saw with no one else’s interests at heart but her own. Yet each of them had shaped Sunbridge, Maggie knew; each had left an indelible mark.