Texas Heat

by Fern Michaels

  Cary felt like singing. Lyrics bubbled forth. Come fly with me. . . . He wished he could remember the rest of the words to the song. He hummed the melody as he leaned on the railing of his balcony. Down below ... his blood, his sweat, and his tears.

  Nothing in his life had prepared Cary for this moment, this day. This was the bubbly. He’d earned this moment—a moment of aloneness to savor his creation. For a little while, until the dedication, Miranda had belonged to him. Now it would belong to the world.

  Come fly with me. . . . It sounded right. If only he could take wing and fly over his creation.... If only.... He wished he could keep forever this wonderful, intoxicating feeling that was transfusing his body.

  This was his dream. Dreams were something the Colemans understood. Moss, Amelia’s brother and Billie’s first husband, had had a dream, too, but leukemia claimed his life before his revolutionary slant-winged aircraft—his dream—could be brought to reality. After Moss’s death, Billie forged ahead, with the family’s help, to make the dream a reality. She’d faltered just as he had, but she’d righted herself, just as he had. And with the aid of Shadaharu Hasegawa, Moss Coleman’s slant-winged plane took wing before the entire world.

  Cary shivered, but not from the cold, even though the temperature was biting and well below the freezing mark. It was a shiver of elation and pride. He imagined he could see Moss Coleman standing on some fluffy cloud giving him his cocky thumbs-up salute and saying, “I couldn’t have done it better!”

  There was no doubt in his mind that he now belonged.

  His feeling of pride stayed with him. Yes, he’d faltered, and yes, the Japanese side of the family had come to the rescue again—to his rescue. He’d never negate the monetary help he received or forget the confidence the Colemans had in him and in his ability.

  Cary’s step was jaunty, his grin in place. Not bad for a boy raised on the charity of a New York City orphanage. From runny-nosed, barefoot, bare-assed orphan to this.

  He belonged now. He proved to himself that he was finally worthy of being one of them.

  Come fly with me. . . .

  The cold November wind buffeted him, pushing him back against the sliding doors. He should go inside, where it was warm and cozy. Inside with Amelia.

  “If you’d take those clumsy clodhoppers off, you might be able to walk normally. How many times do I have to tell you to leave those work boots by the back door—you almost broke my figurines!” Tess Buckalew shrilled.

  Coots Buckalew was in a fighting mood. Nothing had gone the way he’d planned today, and this shindig at Miranda had him twisted in knots. Tess had signed a lease and told him afterward that he’d forked out sixty grand in rent for a suite of rooms at Assante Towers for a year. Rent he couldn’t afford. He’d wring her skinny neck, but then he’d go to prison, and there was no way in hell he was going to spend his remaining years in jail because of Tess.

  The voice he aimed over his shoulder was a thick mixture of gravel and molasses. “Shut up, Tess. You got me into this, and I don’t want to hear a goddamn word out of you. I haven’t forgotten that little trick with the Towers. We can’t afford sixty grand. When are you going to get it through that pea brain of yours that we have to cut back? I mean, way back. And you better not tell me you and the girls bought new clothes for this thing tonight.”

  “Damn right, I’m going to tell you that!” Tess shouted. Coots barely kept himself from jumping. He hadn’t seen her creep up behind him. Tess was two feet away from him and, judging from her pulsing temples and bulging eyes, fighting mad. The thought that Coots would even try to get in her way now meant war. “Do you want us shamed? Of course you do, I can see it in your eyes. You’re a hateful man, Coots Buckalew. We were specially invited, so that means something. We have to look our best.” Tess poked her clawlike finger into his chest. “That means new clothes.” Each word was accompanied by a jab of the claw.

  Coots began to strip down on the spot, in the middle of her bedroom. He knew it would aggravate her, just as he also knew using her shower would set her into a tizzy. Not that he made half the mess she did. Cold air from the marble floor swirled around his ankles and up his legs. His erection died instantly. Tess laughed.

  “It wasn’t for you,” Coots grumbled.

  “A piss hard,” Tess mocked. “Don’t you-all worry, Coots honey, I’m not interested in that little, and I do mean little, joystick of yours. It’s seen the inside of too many whores for me to be the least bit interested—which is why you sleep down the hall.”

  Coots laughed. He was far from beaten. “At least I get to sleep. Those damn bones of yours don’t attack me in all the wrong places.” He was just getting warmed up. This was the fun part, because this tack never failed. He turned on the faucets. “You look like a scarecrow,” he bellowed over the sound of the running water. “How much do you weigh in at this week, eighty-five pounds? Bones with skin plastered over them, that’s all you are.” He adjusted the water temperature. “No titties, no ass,” he shouted, “no goddamn anything. Ugly, too. Your hair looks like a bird’s nest.” He howled with laughter before he added, “Without the birds!” Coots stepped into the shower, still howling.

  Tess stormed about the bedroom on her three-inch spike heels. If she’d known where the main hot water valve was, she’d have turned it off in a second and locked the shower door. Let him freeze his fat ass off, for all she cared. Then the thought of scalding his fat ass brightened her thoughts.

  Fifteen minutes later, Coots walked through the bedroom wrapped in a bath sheet. He stopped in midstride and stared at his wife, sitting at her pink velvet and white satin ribbon-festooned vanity. And then he doubled over laughing.

  “I’ve seen everything now. Rubber bands to pull back the wrinkles—so that’s why your hair looks like a bird’s nest!” He was laughing so hard he began to slap his thighs, struggling to speak. “You’re going to be one pretty mess if those rubber bands snap in the cold weather.”

  Tess ignored him. She hated what she was doing, but the advertisement had looked so promising—at least ten years of wrinkles gone in minutes. She’d sent her twelve dollars airmail the same day she’d read it. It was unfortunate, but she’d been cursed with her mother’s skin. No elasticity. When Coots was in a really foul mood he’d torment her by saying her wrinkles were trenches and if he dropped seeds in them, he was sure they would sprout. She wondered if the rubber bands would really snap with the cold. Damn.

  “Coots honey, I need some help here,” she called sweetly. “Zip me up and I’ll tie your tie. I think we should put our differences aside for tonight. We’re going out in high society, and neither one of us need shame the other. We are a family and have to present a united front. Agreed?” Coots grumbled something that sounded like agreement. But he couldn’t resist one last dig as he yanked up her zipper.

  “You buying your underwear at the sports center these days? Padded brazeers and padded underpants:”

  Tess had the last jab. “Not at all, Coots honey. My bra and panties came from Neiman-Marcus and cost eighty-five dollars. Chew on that for a while, sweetie.”

  Buckalew Big Wells, Oakes and Tess Buckalew’s personalized version of Tara, got its name from the oil gushers that had enabled the Buckalews to build Tess’s dream house in the first place. It sat, curious and sprawling, at the end of the three-mile driveway on the northeast corner of their property. With no recognizable architectural form, its many wings and added-on rooms stretched like tentacles in every direction.

  In the early years, at the onset of its construction, Tess had fought with every architect she engaged. Not one, it seemed, wanted to put his name to the monstrosity she wanted to create. In the end she’d hired local contractors, at least a dozen of them to add the cupolas, the Tudor trim, and the widow’s walk she insisted upon. The stained-glass arched windows, trimmed in jutting Belgian block, had been Austin’s sole topic of discussion for weeks, with the glazier and mason refusing to comment other than to say they wer
e well paid.

  In the days when money was no object, Oakes, better known as “Coots,” had given Tess free rein, never dreaming Buckalew Big Wells would turn out to be known all over the state of Texas, and probably the eastern seaboard, as a nightmare of architectural misdesign.

  Coots, away working in the oil fields, had left the construction to Tess. If he’d been riding a horse when he returned from the fields six months later, he’d have fallen off. As it was, the pickup truck he was driving ground to a halt in the blaze of light emanating from a dozen or so floodlights Tess had ordered installed to emphasize the house’s crazily unique exterior. Nothing in his hardworking life had prepared him for the pretentious monstrosity that was to be his home for the rest of his life.

  Although Coots hadn’t had much fancy schooling, he was a man driven to achieve through hard work. His parlor manners, such as they were, had been learned late, and he only used them when he happened to be in the mood. Tess, on the other hand, garnered most of her education from magazines and movies. Her sole aim in life was to fit her family into what she thought was high society—the Colemans’ kind of society.

  Among the oilmen Coots did business with, the consensus was that he was an okay guy but his wife was off her rocker. The womenfolk were more astute in their understanding of Tess; they knew she was hell-bent on breaking into Austin’s formidable social circle. It was no wonder she never succeeded. The snobbery and pecking order of that elite circle carefully managed, over the years, to allow Tess Buckalew only just so much access, cutting her off when the truly important functions came up. That same elite circle made no bones about accepting her healthy donations to their causes. Tess sighed and glanced at her watch under the rosy glow of the pink-shaded lamp on her dressing table. Coots had stomped on out of the room, and the silence was a blessing. But she couldn’t get the past out of her mind. Maybe because tonight was a landmark.

  Tess had always known that Coots had no great dreams or aspirations. He had never had any. All he wanted from life was to be able to work the oil wells and perhaps, if God was willing and kind, get another gusher. Right now, though, she knew, all he wanted was to survive the oil crisis. The hell with the gusher and everyone else.... At the moment, survival was the name of Coots’s game.

  Tess thought about her own dream. She knew she’d give up every fur and every jewel she owned if she could be half as important as one of them. The Colemans. Revered, wealthy, and accepted. So far the dream had eluded her. Things will change, she told herself. Circumstances changed on a minute-to-minute basis, didn’t they? Her daughter Lacey just might be her salvation, if she could just get Riley Coleman to marry her. Lacey had lost out with Cole Tanner; now, at her father’s insistence, she’d set her cap for Riley, the Colemans’ Japanese-American grandson. With their union in the bag, Tess would be one of the Colemans, one of them. Then she would be called upon for her opinions as well as her donations. Tess daydreamed about what she’d wear and what she’d say, how she’d arrive at every luncheon, every tea, and every social function. She’d be automatically invited to all of them, not just the down-home barbecues Texas was famous for. Getting invited to tonight’s bash, even though it was only because of Lacey and Riley’s romance, was just the beginning.

  Tess could hear Coots stomping about the master suite. She wondered for the thousandth time why she’d ever married him, and, why she’d stayed married all these years. He’d been virile and she’d been lusty. He’d been six four and she’d been tiny, a little under five feet. He’d been her protector and she’d been his adoring clinging vine. Coots had come to the marriage with only his bare hands and the promise that he would give her whatever she wanted, sooner or later. She’d had seventy thousand dollars, a legacy from her parents that still remained intact in the bank. No matter how rough things were in the beginning, Coots had never asked for a dime and she’d never offered. What was hers was hers. What was Coots’s was theirs. Never once had she allowed Coots to forget his promise to her. Everything she wanted. And by God, she wanted.

  The children had come along—first Lacey and then Ivy. That’s probably where the marriage started to sour. Coots hated squalling kids and a messy kitchen and a tired wife. Tess had come to hate his dirty body and his dirtier clothes and the fact that his promise looked like it would never be fulfilled.

  Coots started seeing other women; Tess took to reading pulp magazines by the pound and planning her dream house.

  Now, when everything was almost within her grasp, the cussed oil business looked like it was going to go belly-up. She wished she’d paid more attention to what was going on. Knowing only little bits and pieces about things was dangerous. She knew Coots had been planning to buy the Jarvis ranch, but then Adam Jarvis moved back to Texas with his stepson and decided not to sell. Or said he’d sell but not give up the oil leases. Whatever it was, Coots had lost out. He’d closed off his strippers against Riley Coleman’s advice, saying just because Riley went to college didn’t mean he knew everything. He’d wanted Riley to pick up some of his oil leases. At first Riley had refused, explaining that the Coleman coffers were empty and he couldn’t justify the buy to the family. Tess wasn’t certain, but she thought he’d changed his mind. Maybe because of Lacey, Tess thought.

  Tess’s mail-order course in astrology indicated that Lacey’s marriage to Riley was almost a certainty. At first it bothered her that she would have a son-in-law who was half Japanese, but when she weighed the positives against the negatives, she knew she could come to love Riley. Riley could be her ticket into Austin society.

  Tess checked her watch again. It was too quiet. Where was everybody?

  “We’re ready, Mama,” Lacey said at the bedroom door.

  “Now, don’t you look pretty. Twirl around and let me see. Just as pretty as a summer flower.”

  “In the dead of winter,” Ivy growled behind her.

  Tess’s voice dropped an octave. “Let me see what you’re wearing, Ivy. Lord, child, where did you get that outfit?” Tess’s face was full of horror. “You march back into your room and change your clothes. That might be all right for Lacey to wear, but not you. Where did you get it?”

  “Lacey lent it to me. What would you have me change into, Mother?” Ivy asked coolly.

  “Something. Anything. Bare backs and low necklines are not for you. You’re too big to wear such things. Lacey, help your sister or we’re going to be late.”

  Lacey grimaced. “Mother, haven’t you heard? It’s fashionable to be late.”

  “Not for something this important. Fix her up and do it now!” There was a ring of steel in Tess’s voice that made both girls scurry off to do her bidding.

  Lacey didn’t bother to hide her anger as she stomped her way to Ivy’s Spartan bedroom. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ivy stripping down to her underwear. The scowl on Ivy’s face mirrored her own.

  Someday, when Ivy got her act together, she would be a knockout. Right now, though, she had the face of a cherub and bulged in all the wrong places. The loss of fifteen pounds would do it. Lacey felt a momentary pang of jealousy when she visualized what Ivy would look like when she pulled herself together. She had a winning smile, with teeth so perfect she could pose for toothpaste ads, the kind of smile that made you forget the pudginess and bulges; the kind of smile that said Ivy would be your friend. She had mysterious eyes with a slight cast to them, and when the chubbiness left her cheeks, her whole face would be in perspective. She wasn’t a knockout... yet. Until she was, her sense of humor and her views on life would have to carry her along.

  “Why don’t I just stay home and Mama will feel better? I don’t have anything glitzy to wear, and if I did, I’d look like a clown. I’m sorry, Lacey,” she mumbled.

  Lacey’s freshly manicured nails picked at the clothing in Ivy’s closet. “It’s my fault. I knew better. It’s ... Mama wants both of us ... Where are your clothes?” How was it possible that Ivy had so few things while her own closet bulged to overflowing, n
ecessitating the use of two hall closets for her more costly garments?

  Ivy rose to the challenge in Lacey’s voice. “When was the last time you heard Mama ask me if I needed anything? When was the last time you heard her offer to buy me something? Whatever you see in there is what I bought myself. I never asked for anything and I’m not going to start now. I’m not you, Lacey,” she said tightly. ’

  “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m a grabber, that I take all I can get? Maybe you should try it. Everyone knows you get more flies with sugar than vinegar.”

  “You said it, I didn’t. Well, what have you decided on?” Ivy snapped.

  “I guess it’s this brown dress. God, where in the hell did you get this? I know your taste runs to casual comfort, but this ... is ... Maybe we can dress it up or something.”

  “Or something,” Ivy muttered as she pulled the dress over her head.

  “Pearls, a scarf, a different belt,” Lacey said desperately.

  “Do you really think they’ll help? Look, if you’re embarrassed to be seen with me, get out of here. I’ll wear Grandma’s pearls if it will make you feel better,” Ivy capitulated.

  Lacey stared at Ivy. She wouldn’t be caught dead in the mustard-brown dress, not even to take out the trash. She nodded to show she was in agreement about the pearls. Her eyes filled with envy at the lustrous strand. She’d wanted them, even tried to snitch them after her grandmother’s will had been settled. Her own bequest had been a cameo broach that she’d tossed in a drawer and forgotten. It galled her that Ivy kept the pearls hidden and refused to lend them to her for special occasions. This was the first time she’d seen her sister wear them.