Texas rich (5 page)

"I understand Austin is quite large," Agnes was saying. "Billie and I have never been further south than Virginia. Have you lived there long?"

"All my life," Moss drawled. "So have my folks. This is sure mighty good chicken, ma'am."

So much for his hearty cowhand appetite, Agnes thought. He'd done little more than pick at his food. But she had noticed that he had no difficulty selecting the proper fork and, to her relief, he hadn't tucked his napkin under his chin. Agnes tried again. "I assume your parents still live there?"

"Yes, ma'am. My mother always served her green beans this way, with bits of bacon and onion." His gaze went to

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Agnes's narrowing eyes. He smiled, enjoying his success at baiting her. He knew she was fishing for information and he was being pohte but evasive.

"Bilhe, dear, don't you like the stuffing? You aren't eating. Is anything wrong, don't you feel well?"

"I'm fine. Mother." Quickly, before Agnes could dominate the conversation, Billie asked a question of her own. "Tell us about Admiral McCarter. What's it like to work for him?"

Moss laughed. "Boring. All admirals are boring. They sit and shuffle papers when they aren't out on the golf course or having dinner at the Officers' Club. They moan and groan and complain about how lonely it is at the top."

"What is it you'd rather be doing. Lieutenant?" Agnes interjected.

The drawl was more pronounced when he spoke to Agnes. "Well, ma'am, I joined up to fly. And that's what I intend to do, if there's such a thing as having prayers answered." His eyes flicked to Billie and she felt warmed by his smile and by the confidence between them.

"How do your parents feel about your flying? I'd think your mother in particular would be concerned. Of course, I've never had a son, but I'd think your father would be very proud of you. Is he a flyer, too?"

"No, ma'am. Pap's retired, I suppose you could say." He loved the look of frustration on Agnes's face. "My mother was concerned at the beginning, but she said whatever makes me happy makes her happy. She has my sister, Amelia, to fuss over."

He was being too respectful to be considered a smart aleck. Yet he was evading her questions. "I've heard Texans live on ranches. Do you?"

"Live on a ranch?" Moss repeated. "We have a spread. We call it a spread in Texas." He turned to Billie and asked her if she'd like to go to the movies after dinner.

"Yes, I would." Mother, you don't mind, do you?" Billie's tone and the look in her eyes told Agnes she didn't care if her mother minded or not. She was going. It was shocking. Things were going on here. Things she couldn't put a name to and wasn't sure she liked. She'd had such grand plans for Neal Fox and Billie, and she knew now that the girl would never look at the banker's son without comparing him with this exceedingly handsome, if somewhat dull, young lieutenant. She seethed inwardly.

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"No, I don't mind." She'd had enough. "Why don't you two leave just after dessert. I'll do the dishes. You can do them next Sunday, Billie."

This Sunday dessert was cherry pie and it was delicious. Both Billie and Moss gulped it down. Agnes served Moss coffee and gave her daughter a glass of milk. Billie was well aware this was her mother's silent reminder that she was a child and Moss was a man; she left the milk untouched.

"The next feature is at four o'clock, Moss. We'd better hurry. I don't like to walk in during the picture, do you?" Not waiting for a reply, Billie walked ahead to the parlor for her purse.,

"Mrs. Ames, it was a delicious dinner. It was nice to eat home-cooked for a change. Thank you for having me, and I'll be sure to tell my mother that you use the same string bean recipe."

There was nothing to do except be agreeable. She'd been had. This brash young man had outmaneuvered her. "Thank you for the flowers, Lieutenant. That was very kind of you. We'll have to wait for summer, I suppose, to have flowers from our own garden. Spring flowers are so fragile, wilting and dying almost immediately after they're picked." She was talking too much and he was letting her. When he joined Billie in the front hall, Agnes stared at them for a long moment. He reminded her of a hawk circling its prey and she almost objected when he reached for Billie's hand. She wanted to stop Billie before it was too late. Too late for what? Too late for Neal Fox, for God's sake!

Moss turned, his face half in shadow. "Good-bye, Mrs. Ames. I'll have Billie home before dark." Agnes didn't need to see his eyes; she knew what would be there. Satisfaction. A battle well won.

He escorted Billie down the aisle, careful not to spill the two containers of popcorn. He didn't like two people fishing out of the same box. What was his was his.

Billie sat beside Moss: their shoulders touched. He liked this sweet young girl. She reminded him of his sister in so many ways. Even Seth would approve of Billie. There was something gentle about her, almost old-world. He was beginning to suspect that she was deeper and more complex than she appeared on the surface. She was so young and innocent, without the pseudosophistication that he'd become accustomed

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to in girls. How had that buzzard back in the house on Elm Street come by a daughter like this? By God, Agnes Ames bad to have been cut from the same bolt of cloth as Pap. Traits that he admired in his father were almost unpalatable in a woman. Still, Moss realized the deep vein of loyalty that ran through people like Seth Coleman and Agnes Ames. Loyalty and strength and inteUigence. He wouldn't fault her for that.

They sat quietly together watching the newsreel and the cartoon before the main feature. Betty Grable was showing her legs and it wasn't even ten minutes into the movie. Moss reached out and took Billie's hand. For some reason, couples always held hands in the movies. Is that how he was thinking of himself and Billie? As a couple? Billie's hands were soft, just like the rest of her. He knew she was smiling in the darkness. He smiled, too. She was a nice kid. A very nice kid. He wondered when she would be eighteen. Pretty, too. Billie had the kind of beauty that came from within, arresting the beholder. He supposed she was what they called "the girl next door," and he'd heard some guys say that was what the war was about. Moss knew it wasn't. Power, that was the reason for the war. Something people like himself and Pap and Agnes Ames understood.

Another ten minutes into the movie and he leaned over to whisper, "Billie, this is a terrible movie and we both know how it's going to turn out. Why don't we leave and go some place we can talk. I'd like to get to know you better."

"All right," Billie agreed, frowning slightly. She'd told Agnes they'd be at the movies. It seemed whenever she was with Moss she broke another rule.

"Are you always so agreeable?** There was an edge to his voice, as though he were annoyed.

"Only when it's something I want to agree to."

"I've got a blanket in the car. What say we go to the paric and sit by the lake?"

Billie's pulses sped. If Agnes ever got wind of this, she'd be very disapproving. Before she could reconsider, she stood up and waited for Moss to lead her up the aisle and out into the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day. If Billie had ordered it from Sears Roebuck, she couldn't have done better. Marshmallow clouds drifted across an incredibly blue sky. The grass never seemed greener, the sun never warmer. The park lake rippled and glistened. It was perfect.

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The minutes and hours passed with hardly a notice. Together they sat or rechned on the blanket, talking and talking and talking. She found herself telling Moss things she'd never told anyone. Her desire to go to design and textile school instead of becoming an English or history teacher. How she felt being without a father and how she'd learned to cope with Agnes's protectiveness. When she told him of her aptitude as a pianist, it was a revelation and not a boast.

Moss sprawled out on the blanket, his dark shining head restmg in Billie's lap. He reached up and touched a fmger to her lips. "No lipstick today," he said, looking up at her. The fringe of dark lashes hemming his eyes cast shadows into the blue.

"Not on Sunday." Billie laughed. "Do you mind?"

"Not on Sunday." He grinned. "I should be taking you home now. I told your mother I'd have you home by dark. By the time we get there it'll be past dark."

"I don't want to go home," Billie told him.

"I don't either."

"Why haven't you kissed me?" she blurted.

Moss laughed. "Did you want me to? Would you like it if I kissed you, Billie Ames?" He tried to keep his voice light and teasing. He'd wanted to kiss her for hours. He could almost taste her, could almost feel her lips soft and yielding beneath his. There was something about this sweet innocent he wanted to leave untouched, undisturbed. He didn't realize he was holding his breath for Billie's answer until she replied.

"I wanted it to be your idea. Lieutenant. Now that I've embarrassed myself by asking, I don't want to kiss you. Come on, we'll be late." Wordlessly, she stood up and yanked the blanket out from under him, folding it meticulously before starting back to the car.

"Billie! Wait!" Suddenly, it was important to make her understand. What exactly she should understand he didn't know. "Look at me when I talk to you. I've wanted to kiss you all afternoon, especially when you had cherry pie right there on the comer of your mouth." He touched her lips with his fmger. "I'll know when you're ready to be kissed, Billie. Trust me?"

Billie smiled, his gesture hghting her face. That meant he wanted to see her again. She decided she would invite him not to her prom but to her graduation dance. Perhaps she wouldn't even go to her prom. It held no allure for her now.

They rode home in silence. Moss holding her hand. He

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liked the way it felt in his. He liked Billie Ames. He should have kissed her. "I want to see you again. Will you let me?"

**I told you rd pray for you to get what you wanted."

**How about the USO on Saturday? Does your mother allow you to go there?"

"I've only been there once for a welcoming tea in the afternoon; my mother is a volunteer for the Red Cross. I'll ask her. I think she'll say yes." Even if Agnes said absolutely no, Billie would find a way to get there. She was going to see as much of Moss as she could.

"Okay, I'll see you there, then. Hold on, I'll walk you to the door. We don't want your mother thinking I'm the kind of guy who pulls up and blows the hom and dumps you out on the street."

"Mother would never think that," Billie said loyally, but she knew it was a lie and so did Moss. "I had a wonderful time. Thank you. And thank you for the chocolates."

"Hey, I enjoyed it, too." He realized it was true. He did enjoy Billie's company, was enchanted with it. She made him feel good. She listened and cared and didn't talk too much.

She knew Moss was going to kiss her. It wasn't a soul-searing experience, and rockets didn't shoot off into the night. Instead, the kiss was soft, gentle, with the promise of so much more. More than Moss was ready to give or ask of her. She didn't feel dizzy or weak-kneed. A slow-spreading warmth enveloped her and she wanted him to hold her, just for a moment, just until she could remember that the worid consisted of more than Moss Coleman. Her eyes were shining in the porch light. Someday there would be more—she was sure of it—because she would make it happen.

"Good night, Billie. I'll see you on Saturday."

"Cnight. Moss. Drive carefully."

His mother was the only one who told him to drive carefully, and then, as if to spite authority, he would drive like a bat out of hell. Tonight he drove careftilly, all the way back to the Navy Yard.

Agnes stood in the darkened parlor watching through the lace curtains. Her back stiffened. She'd heard the low, throaty laughter that was Billie's. She'd never heard her daughter laugh that way; it was a woman's laugh. Quickly, she moved to the kitchen, waiting for the front door to open. "How was the movie?" she asked.

"It was awfiil. Just awful. Neither of us liked it." There,

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that was the truth. She simply felt no need or desire to tell Agnes when, where, why, or what. "How was your afternoon. Mother?"

"Oh, I played canasta with the neighbors and Fve only just come home. I was going to listen to Amos 'n' Andy. Join me?"

"No thanks, Mother, I have to read a couple of chapters for a history quiz tomorrow. I think I'll have a sandwich and get started."

There was no quiz; neither was she hungry. She just wanted to be alone and think about today. She wanted to remember every look, every word, everything about Moss. Saturday was only six days away.

{/{({{({{ CHAPTER THREE })}/}}}}}

Agnes appeared in the kitchen to gather her scouring cleansers and wash bucket. Billie stood at the sink clearing away the last of the breakfast dishes. The old wringer washer on the back service porch sloshed rhythmically. "You'll have to hurry along, Billie, if you're going to the movies this afternoon with your nice friends."

All of a sudden she had "nice friends," Billie noticed. "I'm not going to the movies today. I thought I'd stay home and give you a hand. And besides, I want to wash my hair."

At this deviation from her daughter's Saturday routine, Agnes's eyes widened as she waited for the explanation she knew would come. Billie always washed and waved her hair on Saturday night in time for Sunday mass. Billie was struggling with the words. Agnes could sense it.

"Moss invited me to the dance at the USO tonight," Billie said. "I'm going." It was a flat statement, not a challenge.

"You know how I feel about the USO," Agnes countered. "It's perfectly fine for all those boys so far from home and it may be perfectly respectable for all those other girls, but not for you, Billie. When Lieutenant Coleman comes to call, I'll

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suggest he take you somewhere else, somewhere not quite so controversial."

"He's not coming to call, Mother. I'm going to meet him there. And the only controversy concerning the USO is yours."

"Would it make any difference to you if I said I didn't want you to go?" Agnes pretended to fuss with the cleaning rags and cleansers. This stubborn determination was so unlike Billie that it frightened her.