Texas rich (11 page)

A frown puckered Billie's brow. She wasn't certain how Agnes would react to a baby in the house. Babies meant work and confusion, Agnes always said. They demanded and needed attention. Yet whenever Agnes alluded to the possibility of

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pregnancy, there was something smug and satisfied about her.

Billie was so caught up in her daydreams she almost missed hearing the jangling phone in the front hall. When she realized it wasn't the church bells ringing in the noon Angelus, she scurried to the phone and lifted the receiver. She was breathless.

"Billie?"

"Yes, Moss." He'd called. He wanted to talk to her. How wonderful it was to hear him say her name.

"I can't talk for long. We've got a lot of visiting brass here today. I'm behind in my work and the admiral is edgy. He gets nervous when too many stars are around, especially when they've got more brass than he does."

"Maybe you'll be more sympathetic when you're an admiral," Billie teased.

"Billie, I don't want to be an admiral. All I want is to fly. I want to take my place up there with the rest of the guys."

Billie's heart flopped over. Every day, it seemed, the news was filled with stories of downed pilots. She childishly crossed her fingers to wish that Moss would spend the war with Admiral McCarter. She knew it was selfish of her, but she loved him and wanted to keep him safe. What was wrong with that? "I know. I didn't mean to upset you. I was only teasing."

"I know, honey, but I want you to understand that I could never be happy unless I'm flying. I've told you that all along."

It sounded like a warning to Billie. She'd ignore it. "Yes, you did, and I'm sure you'll get your wish when it's time."

"Hey, Billie, do you still pray for me?" he asked, his voice warm and intimate, sending shivers up her spine.

"You know I do," she whispered. She prayed. She prayed he'd always be safe and never taken from her.

"Good girl. What are you doing today?" he asked. "Will you think of me?"

"All day, every day," she told him, her pulses quickening. She imagined she could see his smile, his thick dark hair brushing his tanned brow, and those summer blue eyes that winked out from under thick black brows. Smiling eyes in an otherwise serious face. "I guess I'll weed the garden and then I'll move some of my things upstairs." She felt herself flush, remembering that just minutes before she had been daydreaming about sharing a room and a bed with him.

As though reading her thoughts. Moss whispered huskily, an intimate sound that made her blood sing, "Will you be

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moving them up to our room? I like having your little-girl things around me, Billie. And then what will you do? I want to know so I can think about you."

"Then I suppose I'll have to help Mother with the arrangements for the wedding." She laughed, gloriously happy. "If she'll let me, that is. She seems to be enjoying each little agonizing detail. Right now she's writing to your parents and seems to think I should do the same. What do you think. Moss?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. Just let your mother handle it. There'll be plenty of time for you to think about other things besides me." The old girl wasn't letting any grass grow under her feet, Moss thought. Pap, you're gonna whizz in your pants when you get that letter. He hoped Billie wouldn't think to ask him if he'd called his folks. Amusing. It was all so damned amusing.

"Did you know Mother was writing to your parents?" Billie asked hesitantly.

Injured feelings here, Moss concluded. How often he'd dealt with them where Amelia was concerned. Play the game. Lie if you must. "Not actually, but it's not such a bad idea, don't you agree?"

"I suppose so. But Moss, shouldn't you be the one writing to them? You've never said if you called them or what they said about our getting married. Aren't they even curious?"

"Billie, don't worry. Everything is fine. Trust me, won't you?"

"I do. Moss. I feel guilty, I guess, because I told Mother I didn't want to add a note. Lord, she even wants to send a picture of me."

Trust Agnes to come up with that idea. He smiled. Seth would study the photo with a magnifying glass. "A looker" is what he'd call Billie. "We'll call them the day we get married. That way they'll be talking to their new daughter. Tell me you love me, Billie."

"I love you, Moss. I'm miserable when I'm not with you. Tomorrow seems like forever away. I dream about us all the time and what it's going to be like when we're married."

"Good" was all he said. Hell, he had dreams, too. Of taking off from the deck of a carrier and soaring upward into blue Pacific skies. Wing pilot. Squadron commander. Pap, you ain't seen nothin' yet! I've got me a war to fight and you're gonna take care of my wife and baby. Moss knew there was a baby. Even Billie had confessed she was late. It was just a matter of

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time until a doctor verified the fact. Pap, you're getting a bonus and you don't even know it. Another Coleman. Carry the name, continue the line. It damn well better be a boy—Pap would never settle for less. Moss brought his attention back to Billie. "Tomorrow isn't so far away. Look, honey, I've gotta go now. The admiral is coming up the W2ilk. I'll call you tomorrow and come by for dinner."

"Good-bye, Moss. Think about me?"

"I will, Billie. Now, don't you do anything too strenuous. If you're going outside, wear a hat. The heat is brutal."

The lilt in Billie's voice was like a birdsong. He'd made her happy and that was good. When she was happy she didn't think a lot and if she didn't think a lot, Agnes didn't look for problems.

"I'll do that, Moss. I love you."

Moss leaned back in his swivel chair. Admiral McCarter was nowhere in sight. He wondered how the admiral's golf game was going. If nothing else, he could write some letters. The kind Pap wrote when he wanted something from someone. In this case. Moss was applying for a transfer, listing his first preference as the USS Enterprise. He'd get what he wanted; he knew it. He'd graduated top of his class and was known as a good pilot.

Before he'd had a chance to begin, the phone rang four times in rapid succession. He doodled on the blotter in front of him, drawing a sleek plane. His pencil shd over the blotter, honing its lines.

Agnes licked the envelope flap and sealed it. There, it was done. She did not plan to send the letter air mail. The Colemans would receive it after the wedding. Even if they managed to work in a phone call, it would be too late.

Agnes shrugged. Moss was expendable. Once he'd pronounced his vows—she was counting on his sense of duty— and the marriage certificate was in BiUie's hands, he could fly off directly to Tokyo as far as she was concerned. It was Billie who was important. Billie and the baby. Of course she was pregnant; she already had the symptoms. And if by some strange chance of fate she wasn't, Agnes would be sure to give them lots of time alone. There would be a baby within the month.

Would Billie make a good mother? She was very young. Agnes didn't know. Agnes didn't care. The Colemans could afford nursemaids and nannies.

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Little bumps like those on a fresh-plucked chicken rose on Agnes's arms. She swore she could feel the weight of the Coleman money. First she'd smelled it. Now she could feel it. The heavier it felt, the better she liked it. Billie Ames Coleman. Billie Coleman's mother.

Billie and Moss were married and the day of their wedding was perfect. The sun shone. The garden bloomed. Billie was radiant. Moss was handsome and dashing in his navy whites. Agnes was victorious.

The entire pam, including Father Donovan, numbered thirty-five, and the reception was held at the Latham Hotel in downtown Philadelphia. Eveiy* time a champagne cork pwpped Agnes cringed. It was so expensive, even the house brand they were serving. Moss had offered to pay for the wedding but she'd refused. There were some things she had to do. This was one of them.

Moss found a quiet comer and for company had taken half a bottle of bubbly and a glass. He watched his beautiful bride as she laughed with her friends and danced with his from the Nav7 Yard. Thad Kingsley seemed especially attentive to Billie, and Moss was enjoying it. Now that Billie was his, all his, he could afford to be generous. He snickered as he remembered his own jealousy that mght at the USO. What he'd said was true. He didn't want to share her with anyone and he'd never taken her there again.

Married. Good God, he was married and had a wife. Moss guzzled the champagne and had to fight to keep from standing on the table and making a toast. Not to his bride, but to his old man. Pap, it.was a hell of a wedding. We all got drunk, all but the bride and her mother. We nibbled on strawberries and scrambled eggs and something called crepes. I've got me a wife, you old bastard, and I got her by myself. No picking and choosing. No running her past the Coleman receiving line. His eyes went to his radiant bride. A new Coleman. He held his glass aloft and winked at Billie.

Agnes's part>- was over. This was his time now.

The Hotel Latham was one of the best. The dining rooms were opulent: the liule bistro at ground level fashionable and intimate. The service was discreet; carpeted halls muffled footsteps. This was where BiUie would spend her wedding night.

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It could have been a soddy hut and she wouldn't have noticed, not if Moss was with her.

Outside their room, Moss swept Billie into his arms and carried her over the threshold, his mouth warm and exciting against her ear. "You're mine now, Billie Coleman, all mine!" His arms were strong and she felt small and vulnerable in them, clinging to his neck. He echoed her own thoughts: he belonged to her now, and nothing would ever take him from her.

Their overnight cases had been placed near the bed and roses filled the room. Billie gasped her delight, knowing they were from Moss. A bucket of champagne and two glasses had been placed on the bedstand. Suddenly Billie was shy. It was still daylight. Going to bed was expected. On graduation night the lights had been turned off; their lovemaking had just happened, her passions rising to the surface. Hectic color bloomed on her cheeks.

Moss removed his white tunic. His undershirt emphasized his burnished, tanned skin and snugly fit the contours of his broad chest and manly arms. Peeking above the V neck was a dark curling of chest hairs. His waist was slim, his hips flat, his thighs filled the legs of his trousers. He was beautiful, and Billie felt pale and dun-colored beside him. Why would this beautiful man have wanted to marry her? she wondered. Yet it seemed right that she should find him more physically striking than herself; in nature the male of the species was more colorful and beautiful than the female.

Moss pulled the shades, dimming the room, casting Billie into half shadow. When he turned to look at her he saw the radiance that had surrounded her downstairs in the ballroom had flickered and died. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, her chin lifted and her mouth was set as though to keep from crying. He understood and a wave of pity washed over him. She was probably overexcited by the wedding, exhausted by the preparations, and overwhelmed with her new role as his wife. "Let me help you with your dress, Billie," he offered quietly, waiting for her to accept before moving toward her. Ordinarily, Moss was an impatient lover, but with Billie he wanted to take his time; he wanted to arouse her and have her come to him in the wild abandon she had shown in her own little room.

Billie stood and turned her back, letting him work the tiny buttons of her gown. But first he removed her veil and Juliet

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cap, his fingers smoothing her sleek ash-blond hair, lifting it off her neck to place a kiss that reverberated through her. Tender fingers and loving hands helped her out of her gown, leaving her in her shp. Moss's hands ached with the need to caress her and his body ached with a stronger need as he gazed at her. She was lovely, his Billie, built on dehcate, slender lines, her breasts round and perfect for her figure. Her waist was slim above the gentle slope of her hips and soft curve of her thighs. He felt her shiver beneath his touch.

Moss wrapped his arms around her waist, standing behind her, pressing his lips into the hollow between her shoulder and neck. "Don't be afraid of me, Billie. Don't ever be afraid." His voice was warm and loving, cracking the veneer of her shyness. She leaned back against his lean, hard body. "I'll pour us some champagne and you slip into something comfortable," he murmured.

When Bilhe stepped out of the bathroom into the cool, shade-darkened room, the radio was playing softly and Moss was waiting for her on the bed. She drew in her breath apprehensively, knowing she was being silly; but the sight of his naked chest both excited and intimidated her, until she saw that he was reclining on top of the covers, still wearing his white trousers.

"You're beautiful." He smiled up at her, his intense blue eyes skimming over her nightie. "Come and lie down here beside me. I want to hold you."

Billie crept into his embrace, resting her head against his shoulder. His arms brought her close, warming her skin, giving her solace, demanding nothing. From time to time his hps caressed her brow and he inhaled the fragrance of her hair. He was gentleness. He was understanding. And she loved him.

Street sounds wafted through the windows and seemed in harmony with the music on the radio. The bed seemed strange, longer than her own and wider, alien. The furnishings of the room were impersonal, used by hundreds of other people. Everything was strange, everything was unfamiliar, except the touch of Moss's hand stroking her hair and the clean masculine scent of him and the heat of his body beside hers. Billie turned to that familiarity, seeking reassurance from it, hoping to find the security she did not feel.

He took her hand in his and brought it to his hps, caressing her fingertips, nibbling, tickling her palm with the tip of his tongue. Shyly, she withdrew her hand.

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"What's my Billie thinking?" he asked softly.

After a long moment: "I'm afraid. I'm silly, I know, but I'm afraid. You cause such feelings in me, Moss, and they scare me."