Vegas heat

by Michaels, Fern

  "Mrs. Thornton, come in. Has something happened? Is something wrong?"

  "I'm returning your family albums. I'd like mine back if you don't mind. I also brought you a letter from your nephew, Ash. He passed away two weeks ago on the same day his

  brother Simon died. There are only two Thornton men left in the family to carry on the name—my twin sons Birch and Sage."

  "Was it important to you to bring these albums back to me at this time of night? I sense a certain anxiety in you."

  "I dislike confrontations. I came here to tell you I think it's despicable what you and your brother did to that family you left behind in a tar paper shack. There are no excuses. Even if you had one, I don't want to hear it. A family, Mr. Coleman, is the most precious thing on this earth. When all else is gone, when everything else fails, family is the only thing that counts. I don't believe you looked very hard to find your family. You and Seth were already rich men when Sallie returned to that shack. You could have done the same thing. You could have gone back.

  "The hatred she felt for what you did is what brings me here. Because of that deep hatred, she ruined her sons' lives and she tried to ruin mine. Today was the culmination of it all. My albums, please."

  "Mrs. Thornton ..."

  "I'm no longer Mrs. Thornton. I'm Fanny Logan. My albums, please."

  The old man inclined his head to the right where her albums were stacked neatly. Fanny picked them up and held them close to her chest. A sob tore at her throat. She felt herself being led to a chair. "I think you need to talk, Fanny Logan. I'm a good listener. If you want to cry, I have a whole pile of hankies."

  A long time later Fanny stood, her hand extended. ' T forgot about my dog. She's still in the car."

  "Would you like to spend the night? It's a long drive to town."

  "No thank you. It's late. Good night, Mr. Coleman."

  "God willing I'll make my way to Nevada and Texas before the cold weather sets in. It's time for my clan to meet the others."

  "Consider yourself damn lucky, Mr. Coleman, if any one of them opens their door to you."

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  "I'm not above begging and pleading," the old man said.

  "Those are just words."

  "You're wrong, Fanny Logan. Those are promises."

  Done.

  Over.

  Move on, Fanny.

  It was two o'clock in the morning when Fanny pulled into an all-night diner. She ordered food and carried it to the car, where she gobbled it down almost as fast as Daisy did. She sat in the parking lot for a long time, sipping her coffee and smoking cigarettes, Daisy cuddled in her lap.

  At four-thirty she headed for Washington National Airport. She parked the car in long-term parking, wondering exactly what the words long-term meant. At five-thirty she was the first in line at the Delta checkin counter.

  "Whereto, ma'am?"

  "Home. Shamrock, Pennsylvania. Two first-class tickets, one for me and one for my dog."

  "Yes, ma'am. Your flight leaves in forty minutes. Gate Three."

  Fanny walked across the concourse, her eyes searching for a phone booth. Daisy woofed softly when she placed her call.

  "Marcus?"

  "Fanny?"

  ' 'Fanny Logan, Marcus. I just wanted to tell you I love you. I also wanted to tell you I know where I'm going."

  "Where, Fanny?"

  "Home."

  "Which home, Fanny?" Marcus asked gently.

  "The only one that was ever really mine. Shamrock."

  "Would you like some company? I mean besides Daisy."

  "I would like that very much."

  "Then hang up so I can get it all in gear. I can charter a plane. Will you wait for me at the airport in Pittsburgh?"

  "Yes."

  "How long will you wait?"

  Fanny laughed. "Marcus Reed, me and my dog will wait as long as it takes. Didn't you hear what I said? I love you."

  "You better be saying the same thing when I get off the plane. Hang up, Fanny."

  "Marcus."

  "Yes, Fanny?"

  "I did everything I was supposed to do. I broke the last link."

  "How do you feel?"

  "I feel like I did in 1944 when I left Shamrock."

  "Hot damn. Hang up, Fanny."

  "Okay."

  "You see, Daisy," she whispered, "something good did come of all of this."

  She was going home. And when she got to that wonderful place called home, the man she had waited for all her life would join her.

  Her world right side up, Fanny strode down the concourse to Gate Three on the last leg of her homeward journey.

  For a sneak preview of

  the first book in Fern Michaels's

  brand new Kentucky trilogy,

  KENTUCKY RICH,

  coming soon,

  just turn the page. ...

  Prologue

  The two brothers watched from the window as a black limousine crunched to a stop in the middle of the gravel driveway. In silence, they watched a uniformed driver step out and open the rear passenger door. Their jaws dropped when they saw a slender, long-legged woman dressed in brown-leather boots, well-cut jeans, and white shirt emerge and look around. A sun-darkened hand reached up to adjust tinted glasses before she tipped the brim of her pearly white Stetson to reveal a mane of thick sable brown hair.

  "Who the hell is that?" Rhy Coleman demanded of his brother.

  "How the hell should I know?" Pyne said. "Whoever she is, she's coming up to the porch. I think you should open the door."

  When his older brother made no move to greet their guest, Pyne started toward the door, but it opened before he could reach it. The strange woman blew in like a gust of wind. Without a glance in the brothers' direction, she headed straight for the stairway leading to the second floor.

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  "Hey! Just a damn minute!" Rhy shouted. "Who the hell are you to walk in here like you own the place?"

  She turned to face them and smiled as she lowered her dark glasses. "I do own it, Rhy, at least a third of it. Don't you recognize me, big brother?"

  Rhy's eyes widened with shock.

  Pyne walked toward her. "Nealy! Is it really you?"

  "In the flesh," she said, thinking it funny that neither one of them had recognized her. She'd known them the moment she'd seen them, not by the family resemblance but by the slump of their shoulders. Her smile vanished as she glanced back at the stairs. "Where is he?"

  Pyne's head jerked upward.

  Nealy nodded. "You two stay here," she ordered. "This is between me and him. I have something I want to say to him, and I don't want either of you interfering. Do you understand? This is my business, not yours." When there was no response, she repeated her question. The brothers nodded reluctantly.

  Nealy stared at the two men. They were strangers to her; she felt absolutely no emotion for them—not love, not hate, not even curiosity. They were just two men standing side by side in the hallway.

  It had been over thirty years since she'd seen her brothers. Over thirty years since she'd left this house with Emmie in her arms. Over thirty years since she'd set foot on Coleman land. And now, after all this time, here she was, back in Virginia.

  Home.

  The word made her shudder. She turned her back on her brothers and gazed at the staircase that led to the second floor. As a child, she'd climbed those stairs hundreds of times, maybe thousands. Usually to run and hide so she could whimper in safety.

  Shoulders stiff, back straight, she mounted each step with the same mix of confidence and caution she used when mounting her horses. At the top, she stopped and looked down at her

  brothers, who appeared to be debating whether or not to follow her. "Go about your business while I take care of mine." She hurled the words at them in a cold, tight voice to ward them off. Nealy remembered another day, long ago, when they'd stood in the same spot watching her. She glared at them now as she had then and waited until they
walked away before making her way down the hall.

  Nealy hesitated only a moment outside of her father's bedroom, then opened the door and walked in. The room was just as she remembered it, gray and dim with ineffective lighting, a few pieces of battered pine furniture and worn-out, roll-down shades covering the two windows.

  Her nose wrinkled at the smell of dust, mold, and medication. Hearing a groan, she turned her gaze toward the bed and saw a mound of quilts ... her father, the man who had sent her fleeing from this very house over thirty years ago. How old was he? She knew he was over a hundred, had read about his getting a card from Bill Clinton when he turned one hundred, but gave up because she simply didn't care.

  As she walked toward the bed, she sensed rather than heard someone follow her inside the room. One of her brothers, no doubt. Damn, didn't they know an order they heard one? Of course they knew, she reminded herself. If there was one thing Pa was good at, it was giving orders.

  A frail voice demanded to know who was there. Nealy stepped up closer to the bed and heard a footfall behind her. Rhy or Pyne? she wondered. More than likely Pyne. In his youth, Pyne had been the one to show concern about things and people. Rhy, on the other hand, had taken after their father, not giving a tinker's damn about anything or anybody.

  "It's Nealy, Pa."

  The voice was stronger when he spoke a second time. ' 'There ain't nothin' here for you, girl. Go back where you came from. You don't belong here."

  * 4 I don't want anything, Pa," Nealy said, looking down at the load of quilts on the bed. They looked dirty, or maybe it

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  was just the lighting. Clean, dirty . . . what did she care? She pushed the Stetson farther back on her head so she could get a better look at the dying man without any shadows over her eyes.

  "Then what are you here for?"

  Nealy felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced back to see Pyne. The hand was to tell her to take it easy.

  Like hell she would. Her father had never taken it easy on her. Not even when she was so sick she couldn't stand on her own two feet. She removed Pyne's hand with her own and gave him a warning look. More than thirty years she'd waited for this moment, and neither Pyne nor Rhy was going to take it away from her.

  "I came here to watch you die, old man," she said, looking her father straight in the eyes. "And I'm not leaving until I hear you draw your last breath. I want to see them dump you in the ground and cover you up. I want to make sure you're gone forever. Only after Fve danced on your grave will I leave. Do you hear me, old man 0 '' She glared at him, her eyes burning with hate.

  The old man's face became a glowering mask of rage. "Get out of my house!''

  "Still ordering people around, are you? Well guess what? I don't have to take your orders anymore. I repeat; I came here to see you die, and I'm not leaving until you go to hell. That's where you're going, Pa. Hell!" There, she'd said what she'd come to say. Why didn't she feel a bigger sense of satisfaction? Why did she feel this strange emptiness?

  "Pyne! Take this devil child away from me. Do you hear me?'' the old man gasped as he struggled to raise himself up on his elbow.

  "I'd like to see him try," Nealy said bitterly. Then she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder again. "I'd like to see anyone even try to make me do something I don't want to do. Those days are gone forever."

  The old man gurgled and gasped as he thrashed about in the

  big bed. Nealy watched him with a clinical interest. Her eyes narrowed when she saw drool leak from his mouth. God did work in mysterious ways, she thought as she remembered the day her father decided to take her drooling dim-witted child to the county orphanage. Spawn of the devil was what he'd called Emmie. She stood staring at him until he calmed down, then stretched out her leg and, with a booted foot, pulled over a straight-backed chair and sat down facing the bed. For long minutes she stared at her father with unblinking intensity until, finally, he closed his eyes.

  "Okay, he's asleep now," Pyne said. "What the hell are you doing here, Nealy? We haven't heard a word from you in more than thirty years, and all of a sudden you show up just as Pa is getting ready to die. How did you know? Can't you let him die in peace?"

  Nealy removed her Stetson and rubbed her forehead. She didn't really care all that much for hats, but she'd always longed to wear a pearly white Stetson, just like the Texans wore. These days she was into indulging herself and doing all the things she'd always longed to do but for one reason or another had never done.

  "No, I can't let him die in peace," she said, her voice even now, calm. "He has to pay for what he did to me and Emmie." Her eyes narrowed as she watched her brother closely, wondering what he was thinking before she realized she didn't care. She really didn't give two hoots what her brothers or anyone else thought. "As to how I knew he was dying, I make it my business to know what goes on here. And you know why I'm here, Pyne. I want my share of this place for Emmie."

  Pyne chuckled softly. "Your share? You just said you'd made it your business to know what goes on around here. So how come you don't know that Pa refused to make a will? There hasn't been any estate planning, Nealy. And neither Rhy nor I have power of attorney. The IRS is going to take it all. Whatever's left will be a piss in the bucket."

  Nealy bridled with anger. Leave it to her gutless brothers to

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  let their father go to his deathbed without so much as a power of attorney. "We'll just see about that," she said. "Call the lawyers right now and get them here on the double. Offer to pay them whatever they want. Just get them here. If we work fast, we can still get it all into place. As long as Pa's still breathing, there's a chance. Now, get on it and don't screw up, or you'll be out on the highway along with your brother."

  Pyne stammered in bewilderment. "But ... I can't. Pa wouldn't ..."

  Nealy stood up, took her brother by the shoulders, and shook him. "Don't tell me what Pa would or wouldn't do. It doesn't matter anymore. He's dying. There's nothing he can do to you, to any of us. Don't you understand that?"

  Pyne Coleman stared down at his fit and expensive-looking younger sister. After all these years she was still pretty, with her dark hair and big brown eyes. Once when they were little he'd told her she looked like an angel. She'd laughed and laughed. Back then they had been close out of necessity. It was all so long ago. And now here she was, over thirty years later, just as defiant as ever and issuing orders like a general.

  Nealy suffered through her brother's scrutiny, wondering what he was thinking. She was about to ask when Rhy stuck his head in the door. "You better come downstairs, Pyne, there's a whole gaggle of people outside. They said they were relatives, family. I didn't know we had a family. Do you know anything about this?"

  Pyne didn't seem the least bit surprised. "I know a lot about it," he said, smiling. "Pa told me about them a month ago, right before he had his stroke, but he didn't say anything about them coming here. I wonder what they want." He took Nealy's elbow and steered her toward the door. "I'll make you a deal. You make our family welcome while I make that phone call to the lawyers."

  Nealy jerked her arm free, walked back to her father's bedside, and leaned close to him. Only after she was satisfied that he was still breathing did she follow her brothers downstairs.

  In the foyer, Nealy set her hat down on the telephone table and checked her hair and makeup. With all the skill of a seasoned actress, she worked a smile onto her face as she headed toward the door. Rhy wasn't kidding when he said there was a gaggle of people outside. But family? Whose family?

  "Hello," she said. "I'm Nealy Coleman."

  fc=9

  Thirty years earlier . . .

  Nealy eyed her brother warily. After what he'd said last night, she didn't trust him anymore. But what could she do? She was too weak to move. "Am I dying, Pyne?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. Doc gave you a shot and said you'll be fine in a little while. Listen, Nealy. You have to get better real fast. Pa's plan
ning on sending Emmie to the orphanage in the morning. Once he does that, I don't know if you can get her back."

  Nealy pushed the covers away and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her face felt hot, her skin stretched to the breaking point. And yet her body was cold.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Pyne asked,

  "Taking your advice. I'm going to leave."

  "But ... You're too sick, and Emmie's coming down with the same thing.

  Nealy ignored him. Chills racked her body as she gathered her warmest clothes and took them into the closet. Minutes

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  later she emerged completely dressed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and was pulling on her boots when the door opened and Emmie ran in. Tears streamed down Nealy's face as she hugged her. "I'll never let Pa take you away from me. Never." The toddler burrowed her head against her mother's chest. Nealy rocked her feverish daughter in her arms. She looked up when her brother came to stand in front of her.

  "I knew you would react this way, so I came prepared." He reached his hand into his pocket, then handed her a neat roll of bills. "Tessie, Rhy and me ... We scraped together all we could. It's almost $200.1 wish it was more but... Wait a minute! I know where there's some more. Don't move till I get back," he said, excitement ringing in his voice. He was back within minutes holding a fat envelope. "There's four hundred dollars here. Tax money. I saw Pa counting it the other day. Don't say anything, Nealy. I'll deal with it later. Here's the keys to the truck. Tessie is packing up Emmie's things right now. There's not much time. Pa went to the barn with the vet, so if you're leaving, you best do it now. He made the call to the county orphanage last night, and they said they'd come for Emmie in the morning. I don't expect they'll go after you, but I covered the license plates with mud just in case." He reached into his other pocket and took out a napkin. "Doc Cooper left you some pills and gave me instructions to give them to you every four hours."