Texas fury

by Michaels, Fern

  Amelia felt a rush of pleasure at the thought of Cary's homecoming. He'd be in a lusty mood. She was herself, so the afternoon she planned would be wonderful. First they'd have coffee and Cary's cookies. He would tell her in great detail all about his trip, then tease her a little about the presents he bought her and make a Cecil B. De Mille production of the presentation. She'd do her bit, and Cary would be pleased with his selection, and maybe nibble at her ear. That would be a good time to tell him about her trip. He'd do his best to look interested and offer comments and suggestions and end up by saying how proud he was of her. And of course, the best part was always saved till last. She'd give him a massage with some sweet-smelling balsam oil and casually mention that the Jacuzzi was waiting for them, along with the chilled champagne. She must remember to put a bottle on ice the minute she got home. They'd make long, leisurely, wonderful love. They'd nap, make love again, and then she'd whip up some scrambled eggs and bacon and they'd eat in front of a fire. Amelia smiled.

  She all but ran to the door the moment she heard Cary's key in the lock.

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  "Amelia! You're home!"

  "Waiting for you, darling. I'm your welcoming committee of one, and I missed you."

  "I missed you, too," Cary said absently. "God, it's cold out there."

  Amelia watched as he hung up his coat. Usually he threw it over the back of a chair. He geometrically aligned his briefcase on the shelf. He turned, pecked Amelia on the cheek, and walked to the bedroom. "I brought you some presents. They're in the bag. I'm going to take a shower. Do you think you could make me a sandwich or something?"

  Or something. Amelia jammed her trembling hands into the pockets of her new raspberry-colored wool dress. She'd bought it just to please Cary. He loved the color and he said he liked the way the new fluted skirts swished around her legs. "I picked up some macaroons and I'll make some of that master-blend coffee you love," Amelia called to his retreating back.

  "Don't bother. I'm about coffeed out. Drank too much on the plane, and my belt says no more sweets for a while. A cheese sandwich and a glass of milk will be fine. If it's not too much trouble."

  Trouble? She'd milk the damn cow if necessary. So her plans were sidetracked. She'd rustle up the sandwich and have it waiting in the bedroom when Cary got out of the shower. She'd open her presents while he was still wrapped in his bath sheet. All she'd have to do was whisk it off and voila —love-making Assante-style.

  Amelia marched to the kitchen. She peeled three slices of American cheese and slapped them between two pieces of white bread. She looked at the dry sandwich. Butter and mayonnaise and a leaf of lettuce would make it more palatable. She arranged the plate on a silver tray with three sprigs of parsley and some Chilean grapes. She plucked a ripe peach, also from Chile, and set it on the tray. Cary loved fresh fruit. The milk carton refused to open. In the end she had to search the drawers for scissors to cut the stiff cardboard. She poured generously into a large crystal glass. A fresh linen napkin on the tray and she was ready. She carried it gingerly across the long living room.

  Tears pricked her eyes when she saw Cary sprawled across the foot of the bed. Droplets of water beaded his shoulders. He hadn't even bothered to dry off. For one brief instant Amelia wanted to dump the contents of the tray all over his

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  slick body. Instead, she set it down on the dresser, covered him with an afghan, and left the room.

  Amelia's hands were steady as she held them toward the fire. There were no tears in her eyes. The rest of the afternoon and the long evening yawned ahead of her. Cary would sleep for hours. Well, everyone's dreams were dashed once in a while. And there was always the never-ending pile of paperwork to be tackled. She had a new book from the book club. She could read and gorge on Godiva chocolates. She could start dinner, something that took a long time to prepare and an even longer time to cook. She could also unpack Cary's bag, or she could watch a couple of soap operas. She could call friends and catch up on the gossip or arrange a dinner party. She did have obligations to reciprocate. And if none of that appealed to her, she could go for a walk. She could even drive out to Sunbridge. Maybe it was time for a trip up to the knoll.

  Amelia tiptoed into the bedroom. The raspberry dress slid to the floor and was replaced with fleece-lined sweatpants and a cashmere sweater the color of a shiny topaz. Her walking boots with the warm lining and her shearling coat made her ready for the trek to the one spot that gave her comfort.

  In rapid succession she made two phone calls: one to the garage to have her car brought to the front and the second to the florist in the lobby.

  Amelia's mittened hands nestled the florist's box of violets into her huge carry-all bag. It would protect the violets for the climb up the hill.

  Sunbridge looked desolate in the afternoon light. She'd never found the place warm and inviting, no matter what the season. If it weren't for the small cemetery up on the knoll and family gatherings, she'd never choose to set foot on Coleman land.

  Amelia picked her way carefully as she searched for the path that led to the knoll. Medallions of ice and patches of crusty snow crunched under her boots.

  It was bitter cold now, the wind whipping angrily through the naked, arthritic trees. She gasped, thankful that she was almost at the clearing.

  Breathing hard, she leaned against her father's headstone. Defiantly, she sat down on the base of the stone. Her mother's smaller marker was next to it, a florist's vase in shards at its foot. Someone in the family hadn't forgotten Jessica. Cole probably.

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  It was as desolate here as down on the path. The ground was frozen, with bits and pieces of twigs and old leaves sticking out every which way. She was having trouble breathing. Maybe it wasn't just the climb but the anxiety over Cary's return. Coming here today, she decided, wasn't one of her better ideas. She'd be here soon enough anyway, she thought grimly.

  Amelia pulled the scarf from around her neck to cover her mouth. When her breathing returned to normal, she reached into her bag for the violets. The delicate petals would crystallize in seconds in the frigid air.

  Now it was time to talk, time to unburden herself.

  "It's happening, Mam. I'm not ready. Thinking about something and actually doing it are two different things. It hit me between the eyes, Mam. Handpicking my successor for Cary was just a whim I had, at first. I don't have a right to do that, and I never would have except that Julie Kingsley was so perfect. I was going to arrange everything, but if I'm going to be truthful, I can't go through with it. Not now. It would have been better if it had happened after... when I'm here with you.

  "On the drive out here I kept thinking about things like fate and destiny. If something is meant to be, it will be. Some things are ordained, you know. In my mind I had it all planned out. Cary would retreat into himself, mourning for me, and Julie would draw him out of his grief with kindness and patience. Mam, I saw the scenes played out in front of my eyes. I'd be up above somewhere, looking down. I wanted to play God, and now He's punishing me. What do you think the chances are of Cary running into Julie in New York City? There's something like nine million people in New York. I couldn't begin to check the odds on a meeting like that taking place.

  "It's out of my hands, Mam. I don't know what to do. I'm sure that nothing's happened yet, but Cary is feeling the impact. He doesn't know how to handle it. How supportive and loving can I bel What I had planned was for when I. .. when I was gone. And, Mam, I know I don't have all that much time left. Cary's been my whole life—I don't think I can share him.

  "Billie says one either loves unconditionally or not at all. If Billie's right, then I have to stand back and give Cary what is best for him. I can give that, Mam, without Cary even know-

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  ing I'm the one doing it. It will be new for me, since I've always been on the receiving end of things. Giving is such hard work. There can't be any of that me-first stuff this last time round. I've got Pap's guts." Tea
rs trickled down Amelia's cheeks. She brushed at them impatiently with her mittened hands. "I think I can bear it, Mam, but what if I'm wrong? What if I can't? What if I say something mean and spiteful? What if I drive Cary away from me? I'd die. I wouldn't want to live, Mam, when jealousy takes over, and it will. I know it will. What if I destroy Cary? My heart is so full of love for that man, sometimes I think it will burst right out of my chest. I've had it all. More than I or anyone else deserves. I don't want to let go, Mam." Amelia sobbed. "Should I throw myself into my work? Fill up my hours and let Cary fill up his hours in his own way? I ache with the hurt, Mam. Having guts and strength are two very different things.

  "Mam, those dreams... For a little while they frightened me, and then I had a talk with myself. I knew. . .just knew you were trying to tell me something. ... I even called Billie and told her.. .. What I'm trying to say is, thank you. I found the papers. I had Billie call the family for their okay. We're winning this one; I can feel it in my bones."

  Amelia was surprised to find herself smiling—and warm. She blew a kiss at her mother's grave. "I'll be back, Mam. Maybe just to talk, but maybe it'll be to... rest. Either way, you can count on it."

  The old shearling coat she'd had since she was nineteen snagged on a piece of protruding masonry from her father's stone. She tugged at the coat, and in her impatience she pulled too hard. The sound of it ripping was like a thunderbolt. She turned, her eyes full of hate, her lips pulled back into a snarl. "You always ruined everything. Even here, you can still do it. But I finally got you, you old buzzard. Mam helped me; what do you think of that? All your life you hated me, and now when I. . . Never mind, you aren't worth the explanation. Bastard!" she hissed through the scarf covering her mouth.

  Amelia imagined she could hear her father's taunting reply as she made her way down the hill. "Bitch!" She laughed.

  Amelia let herself into the apartment quietly. She removed her boots and placed them carefully on a rubber boot tray in the hall closet. She jiggled both arms as she shrugged out of the coat and hung it on a special wooden hanger that could

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  take the weight. She'd take it to town tomorrow to have it repaired.

  It was almost dark. The apartment looked gloomy. Cary must still be sleeping. She snapped on light switches as she made her way to the kitchen. Food was the furthest thing from her mind, but cooking would give her something to do. Perhaps she should make something creative, something she'd never made before, so she could concentrate on the recipe instead of her thoughts.

  The freezer was a disaster. Pillsbury frozen pancakes and waffles. Weight Watchers lasagna. Six Swanson Hungry Man dinners and turkey pot pies. Pushed in the back was a twenty-pound leg of lamb. An assortment of vegetables lined the shelves on the door. Amelia slammed it shut in disgust.

  The refrigerator was no better. A container of orange juice, four eggs, half a loaf of bread. Four strips of bacon in a Ziploc bag had little blue spots all over them. Butter and blueberry jam nestled in the corner next to two jars of dill pickles. Trie bottom shelf was full of Coors Light beer and California Wine Coolers. She'd have to make a grocery list and have her thrice-weekly cleaning lady shop for her.

  "Amelia! Babe, is that you?" Cary shouted from the living room.

  Amelia sucked in her breath. "In the flesh, darling."

  "You scared the hell out of me. One minute you're here and the next you're gone. Where the hell have you been? You usually leave a note," he said accusingly. "I only slept for twenty minutes. I needed a few Zs. You know how my eyes dry up in airplanes."

  Zs? It must be New York talk. Twenty minutes? Then why was he still wearing the batji sheet? She'd just bet the tray was the same way she'd left it and that his bag wasn't unpacked either. She hadn't lived with this man all these years not to recognize the fact that he'd awakened just minutes ago. Why did he have to put her on the defensive?

  "I'm sorry, Cary; I thought you'd sleep the afternoon away. I went out to Sunbridge."

  "At this time of the day? Without me?"

  Was she hearing outrage in her husband's voice?

  "I didn't think you'd want to make a trip to the cemetery so soon after getting home. Why don't you get dressed and I'll fix you a drink. We can sit in front of the fire. I can attest to

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  the nip in the air—actually, it's more than a nip. It's twenty-three degrees."

  Cary marched out of the kitchen. This was Amelia's cue to follow him. Instead, she went into the den to add another log to the fire.

  In the bedroom, Cary whipped off the bath sheet. It sailed through the air, landing in the corner next to a ficus tree that was made of silk. Amelia knows, he thought. Knows what, for God's sake? You didn't do anything. So what if you bought an answering machine; you didn't leave any messages on it. There was no harm in kissing Julie. Nothing happened. You wanted it to happen, admit it. No, I love Amelia. I belong here. He looked around wildly. His eyes settled on the tray. Amelia had probably tried to make it look appealing, but now the bread was curled up, the parsley wilted. The milk had scum on the top. The grapes looked lifeless and the peach was starting to pucker. "No goddamn wonder. It had to be ninety in here. He stomped to the thermostat. He wasn't far off: eighty-two degrees. He turned the dial down to seventy. Amelia would just have to wear a sweater.

  His bag wasn't unpacked. That was the first thing Amelia always did—she'd throw the dirty clothes in the hamper, put suits and jackets in the hall closet to be taken to the cleaners. His shoes would be treed and neatly aligned in his own closet. She hadn't seen her presents either. Christ, she knows. Amelia was like a kid when it came to gifts. It was one of the things he loved about her. The sparkle in her eyes, her infectious laughter. The crazy desire to call Julie to ask her what he should do now made him gag.

  He'd brought home a list of lies, and he was already adding to it. He'd lied when he said he onjy slept twenty minutes; her key in the lock had jerked him awake. He'd waited minutes to see if she'd peek into the room, lying back against the pillows, his hard-on at full mast. She hadn't opened the door. Jesus, she knows.

  He dressed quickly, comfortable jeans and a worn yellow sweater that Amelia said made her want to attack him. He skipped the shoes and socks, opting for his scruffy slippers.

  A night at home with his wife.

  Remember now, Cary, one lie leads to another, and before you know it, it's too late to get out. Your life has been wonderful up till now. You're at loose ends. The Julie thing is

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  history now, so forget it. Your marriage is too precious to tamper with. Watch it, bub.

  Amelia was curled up on the oversize love seat in front of the fire. On the table next to her was a tray with a pot of hot chocolate and a plate of macaroons. Hadn't he said something about not eating sweets? If he had, this wasn't the time to mention it.

  "Let's sit on this sofa, honey," Cary pleaded. "I don't feel like having my eyebrows singed. Your face is flushed." Little mottled red splotches. Where had he heard that word?

  "It's so toasty here. You sit on that one and sort of lean back, darling, and we can hold hands while you tell me about your trip."

  He would never be an actor. Even though he tried to inject gaiety into his voice, he knew it was coming out forced and flat. He did manage to go on for thirty minutes about the high rollers and the lawyers. He skimmed over Julie and ended with "God, I forgot to give you your presents."

  "We have all evening. What do you feel like for dinner? And before you make your announcement, I think you should look in the refrigerator. Trust me when I tell you it will be a wild and wicked selection you'll be forced to make. We could order in if you have a yen for Japanese or Chinese. No pun intended."

  "Crackers and cheese?"

  "Crackers but no cheese. I used the last of it to make your sandwich." The one you didn't eat, she felt like saying.

  "An omelet?"

  "Scrambled. We have four eggs."

  "Toast and coff
ee?"

  "I can even throw in some butter and jelly," Amelia said lightly.

  "A feast fit for a king," Cary said just as lightly.

  "Now?"

  "Later. I want to give you your presents. Promise to be appreciative."

  "Aren't I always?"

  Amelia's smile disappeared as soon as Cary was out of the room. She wondered if Julie had helped him pick them out. She'd know instantly if he'd had help. The smile was back on her face when Cary walked into the room with the two scrunched-up Bloomingdale's bags he'd shoved into his suitcase.

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  "Bloomingdale's, hmmnn."

  Cary watched as Amelia oohed and aahed and complimented him on each item. When she came to the wind-up toy, she giggled like a girl. She slid from the sofa and sat on the floor, laughing and playing with the second toy.

  "Do you like your presents, babe?" Cary asked.

  "Cary, I love everything because you cared enough to think of me while you were away on business. If you gave me two pencils, I'd love them, too." She hoped he didn't hear her sigh of relief when she realized he'd indeed made his own purchases.

  "Come here, babe," Cary said. He kissed her. It was a long, hard kiss that demanded she return his passion. He was kissing her. When his lips became gentle and searching Amelia knew she'd been replaced by Julie Kingsley.

  Cary listened to his wife's even breathing for a long time. He usually slept like a hibernating bear after sex, but not tonight. Hell, he might as well get up. And do what? A radio or television would wake Amelia immediately, and she needed her rest. Damnation. If he didn't fall asleep, he'd lie here and start comparing Amelia to Julie and Julie to Amelia. Half his problem, he decided, was that he'd been idle too long.

  It wasn't natural for him not to be working. He'd worked all his life. A man could get into serious trouble just hanging out, watching his wife work. Shit! He'd really believed Amelia when she told him they would take a long vacation after the opening of Miranda. He'd never told her, but he'd actually bought tickets for a cruise around the world. A surprise, he thought. Some surprise. He rolled over carefully so as not to disturb Amelia. He punched the soft pillow till he had it in a ball, just the way he liked it. Twenty minutes later he was still wide-awake. He supposed he could go out to the living room and read. Reading was quiet. Too damn quiet. He could even get dressed and go for a walk. Fresh air and all that. He knew he wouldn't do either.