Texas rich (8 page)

Thad swung around for one last barb. "I want you in by sunup and I expect that uniform to be in the same condition it's in now," he said in what he hoped was a motheriy tone. "You hear me?"

Moss laughed and waved as he went out the door.

They were good guys. And if Moss could, he'd pick Thad Kingsley for a brother. Thad was probably the best danm flyer he knew. He was one cool man under pressure and never made a mistake.

Agnes's eyes were unreadable when she opened the door to admit Moss. He looked as if he were bom to navy whites. "Come in. Moss. Billie will be ready in a moment." She admired the creamy white camelias he was carrying. "What a lovely corsage!"

Moss stared straight into Agnes's eyes. When he spoke, his drawl was more pronounced. "I'm thinkin' I'll be outa here by September. Leastwise, that's the way it looks now." He watched for her reaction, expecting relief. He frowned. Hell, wasn't that what she wanted? For him to be gone so her httle Billie would be safe? That wasn't panic he saw in her face, or was it?

* * *

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The small band hired for the graduation dance was making a valiant effort to accomplish the big band sound of Glenn Miller. A young woman was making a fair stab at sounding like Helen O'Connell, to the delight of everyone in the hall. Billie danced with Moss, her head cradled against his chest. She felt so good, so right being in his arms. She'd noticed every female head in the gym turn when she'd walked in on his arm. Even the teachers had cast more than one admiring glance in his direction as he led her around the dance floor.

Agnes stood at the table serving punch from the huge bowl. She preened as she heard the principal beside her acclaim Billie as the prettiest girl at the dance. "And who's the young man with her, Mrs. Ames? It's obvious he's well bred."

"He's Lieutenant Moss Coleman, from Austin, Texas. Confidentially, he's from a very important family, if you know what I mean."

The principal, sensing Agnes's excitement, knew exactly what she meant. Moss Coleman must be a very wealthy man indeed.

"Billie, the band is going to take a break," Moss said against her cheek. "This is a good time for me to check in with Admiral McCarter. Why don't you go over and get some punch and I'll meet you at the refreshment table."

Agnes, standing guard over the punch bowl so none of the more rambunctious students would spike it, saw Billie coming toward her, saw the flush on her daughter's cheeks, the full smiling lips, the glow in her eyes. Billie had a look about her that would throw fright into any mother's heart. A look that said she was full grown and had found the man she would have.

"Mother, are you having a good time?" Even her voice was different, Agnes decided. Wann and vibrant, holding an assurance and confidence. A woman's confidence. Billie was a girl no longer. Agnes had felt that way once, experienced those same tensions and desires, and she knew where they led. Directly to the bedroom.

"It's a wonderful dance and a very special night for you, isn't it, Billie? Especially since Moss thinks he'll be shipping out before September." She pretended not to notice Billie's distress, waiting to hear if Moss had confided his plans or made promises for the future.

"Did he tell you that?" Billie asked, her hands trembling.

"Oh, I'm so soiry, dear. Did I let a cat out of the bag? Yes,

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he told me just this evening.'* Agnes stared at her daughter, thoughts ricocheting through her head. Her own hand shook slightly as she ladled out the punch. What a silly httle girl Billie actually was. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so protective of her all these years; perhaps then Billie would know how to reach out and take what she wanted. She herself had been much smarter at seventeen than Billie, Agnes thought. She took a deep breath and came to an instant decision. "Take this, dear. You look as though you need it," she said, serving her daughter a cup of punch.

Billie reached for the punch cup and at that instant Agnes's hand flew upward, the bright red drink splattering all over the front of Billie's white dress.

Coming around the comer from the hallway just then, Moss saw Billie step backward, but not in time. Her dress was ruined. He stood still for a minute. There was no point in ruining his uniform. When Billie finished wiping at the deep red stains, he walked forward.

"Oh, Moss, I'm so glad you're here," Agnes said anxiously. "Will you please take Billie home so she can change her dress? Billie, I'm so sorry. I thought you had the cup in your hand. You don't mind, do you. Moss?"

"Of course not." His eyes searched Agnes's. He'd been wrong; it wasn't panic at all. It was fear. A tight smile escaped him as he took Billie past the small, knotted crowds.

Agnes watched them leave. Her glance went to the oversized clock on the wall, somewhat difficult to see with all the crepe-paper decorations hanging above. Ten minutes to drive home, another fifteen for Billie to change, ten for them to return. She would wait. This would be Billie's chance and it might be the only one she'd get. Agnes pushed down all maternal uncertainties. It was a terrible gamble, but she was doing it for Billie's sake. Her daughter was going to be one of the Colemans of Austin. Agnes smiled. And one way or another, she'd be one of them, too.

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UUHiU CHAPTER FOUR }»}}»}}

Moss took the latchkey from Billie's hand and opened the front door. He admired the way she was handhng her disappointment and embarrassment. Other girls, he knew, would have fretted and complained about the ruined dress, making the situation miserable for everyone. Not Billie. During the ride home she'd laughed and joked and teased him about being the most popular man at the dance.

"I'll only be a minute. Maybe two." She laughed. "I'm afraid I'm soaked clear through to the skin. Why don't you turn on the radio to keep you company?"

"I'm sorry about your dress, Billie," he told her sincerely. "You were the prettiest girl at the dance. No, not just pretty, beautiful."

Billie felt his words warm her. Now it didn't matter if she had to wear sackcloth and ashes. Moss had said she was beautiful and she felt beautiful when he looked at her this way, with fires glowing behind his eyes.

He watched her disappear into the room off the parlor. After tuning in a radio station, he jammed his hands in his pockets and paced the darkened room. There was a line of light seeping from under Billie's door; he could see it flicker and waver as she moved about inside.

Billie stripped off her dress, knowing she'd find that the red punch had seeped through to her white taffeta slip. Even her skin was sticky and she needed a quick wash. How could Mother have been so careless? She'd need a complete change of clothes, everything.

Moss opened the door to Billie's bedroom; the sott, pmk light from the bedstand shafted into the open closet door where he could hear her runmiaging. He leaned against the dooijamb, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, his cap tilted low over his eyes.

Unaware of his intrusion, Billie reached for her terry robe

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and stepped out of the closet, humming softly to the tune of "I'll Be Seeing You" playing on the radio in the parlor. Moss surveyed her from the shadow of his cap, seeing the long naked length of her back, her small round rump, and her tapering legs, firm and lightly muscled. Her bare shoulders were dusted with the dark gold of her hair. She turned slightly, affording him a view of her small uptilted breasts with nipples as pink as the inside of seashells. Her waist was tiny and he grinned at her little round tunmiy, a vestige of girlhood.

Billie shrugged into her robe, gathering it closed with the beh before turning to see him, her face registering surprise. Moss looked at her, his gaze never wavering from her face. It was there, the woman's heat. It had turned her hazel eyes to gold.

A flush of warmth crept down Billie's body, touching embers to her breasts, her belly, between her legs. Still staring into his eyes, she opened her robe, allowing it to slip off her shoulders and caress her arms as it slid to the floor. Just as she discarded the scruffy white robe, so did she cast off her girlhood. It was a woman's arms that lifted to welcome him.

Agnes kept watching the clock on the wall. All around her, skirts swirled and music played. She was obUvious to everything save the passing of time. Nearly an hour had gone by since Billie had left with Moss. Agnes walked to the cloakroom for her sweater. Her step was determined as she left the high school and went out to the street.

Her movements were controlled as she drove her seldom used Studebaker, both hands clutched on the wheel. Instead of coming in from the south end of her block, she drove an extra two blocks so she could swing around and come in from the north and park on the opposite side of the street. There she sat, staring across at the gray-and-white house on Elm Street. Moss's borrowed car was parked in the drive. The house was dark and uninviting.

The light from the outside streetlamp filtered through Agnes's rayon curtains into Billie's darkened bedroom, splashing onto her narrow, girlish bed and puddling a silvery sheen onto their nakedness. She lay close in Moss's embrace, sensually aware of his coarse chest hairs tickling her breasts. His lips nuzzled her neck, trailing familiarly now to the hollow between her breasts and beneath them. He cupped and caressed their swollen

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firmness and seemed to take such pleasure in them that she wished they were bigger, fuller, for him.

"I don't know what's sweeter, Billie, you or the fruit punch. You're still sticky with it and delicious," he murmured against her flesh, rekindling the throbbing of her pulses. She wanted to be sweet for him. She wanted to be everything for him.

Billie sighed, stretching languorously beside him. She was a woman now. Moss had made love to her and made her a woman. His woman. He'd been so tender with her, so careful, arousing her to such a fever pitch before penetrating her flesh with his that she'd hardly noticed the quick, sudden rending of her maidenhead. Then, as he'd moved slowly within her, she'd feh herself dissolve wetly, her flesh opening itself to him, taking him fully inside her. She'd imagined that she was his canvas and he the artist, painting her with the vivid colors of her awakened sexuality, designing her to his pleasure as he traced intricate patterns along her body with his lips and hands. His wonderful hands. There was not an inch of her unkissed or unloved, and Billie Ames felt she had metamorphosed from a dun-colored caterpillar into an exotic butterfly.

Leaning up on one elbow, Moss trailed a teasing finger from the hollow of her throat down her body to the mossy bank of her sex, still moist and warm from their loving. "It'll be better for you next time, Billie. I didn't want to hurt you."

"You didn't. It was wonderful. I've never felt this close to anyone before. Moss. I love it. I love you."

His only answer was to kiss her, softly, his lips lingering on hers in an intimate caress. She parted her lips, allowing him entrance just as easily as she'd allowed him to enter her body. She was sweet and warm with the aftermath of their loving, but he knew she hadn't come to a climax and this was something he wanted to share with her, wanted to give her. "Being close isn't enough," he breathed. "There's so much more, and I want to show you."

"More? Show me. Moss. Show me now," she insisted, feeling a growing pressure at the center of herself that she knew he alone could assuage. Was it possible to be closer to him than she felt this minute? Was it possible to take a part of him that she could keep for her own and never lose no matter what happened, no matter how far away he would go?

Moss was shaken by her invitation. He had expected to find pleasure in making love to her, but he'd never guessed at the depth of that pleasure or anticipated such uninhibited willing-

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ness. She'd been wonderful, accepting his caresses, the possession of her body, offering herself to him as though she were a gift created for him alone. Their eyes met in the dimness, clear and level, heated and eager without a trace of regret or embarrassment. Seeing her lips part in anticipation of his kiss, he lowered his mouth to hers, touching and seeking that special sweetness that was Billie's alone. He felt her fingers graze his back, lowering to his haunches, reawakening his desire for her. At that moment he believed he could never be sated in his hunger. Billie was special, unexpectedly so. She enchanted him with her responses, enthralled him with her eager, un-practiced touch. She was an untapped spring of sensuality and he determined to follow her courses to the deeply hidden source.

Her body turned in his arms, offering itself to his explorations. Her skin was soft, supple beneath his touch. He watched her face as he caressed her breasts, slowly, intriguingly, lowering to her belly, between her parted thighs. The upsweep of her lashes lowered sleepily as she gave herself over to him, trusting him to take her to that place he had promised.

His hand roamed the soft flesh of her thighs, rising upward. He watched her expression of wonder as she moved against his touch and she heard his response to her passion in the catch of his breath and the husky sound of his voice. "I love to touch you this way," he whispered. "I love to watch you surrender yourself to me. Touch me, Billie," he encouraged. "Touch me."

She sought him with her hands, eager to know him, to explore the mystery that promised such pleasure. Her own excitement grew as she realized his delight. The hardness of his sex was somehow vulnerable and tender, throbbing with desire. His body delighted her, tempting her fingers to find the breadth of his chest and the flatness of his belly and the strength of his thighs. The sound of her own heart thundered in her ears as she explored the fragility between his legs and the round firmness of his buttocks.

Moss found himself breathless from her touch, seeing in her eyes that she took as much pleasure in him as he did in her. Her lashes fluttered and the tip of her tongue moistened her lips as though she were about to taste a delicious morsel. He brought his mouth to hers once again, hungering for it, darting his tongue against the silky underside of her full lower lip. His hands never broke contact with her body, fol-