The Pleasure Principle. Kimberly Raye

a slave driver,” he told his sister.

      “What do you expect? It runs in the family.”

      “Yes, but she married into the family.”

      “That’s even worse. It’s a double whammy. We’re cursed.”

      “Lunch,” Claire said as if keeping with her image. “Now.”

      Brady managed two steps before he heard his grandfather’s voice drifting from the dining room.

      “…need is a damned sheriff who knows the difference between a bull and a heifer. Why, John Macintosh is as citified as they come and only on the lookout for his own interests and those old cronies over at city hall. Damned politicians…”

      The voice, so rich and deep and familiar, sent a wave of doubt through Brady and he hesitated.

      He’d envisioned this moment the entire trip from Dallas. He was about to face his past, his present, his future. If Zachariah Weston could find it in his heart to forget and forgive. Or at least forgive.

      “He’s still as salty as ever, but I can promise he won’t bite.”

      “That’s a matter of opinion,” Ellie piped in behind them. “When I had my hair colored last month, he’d liked to have chewed me a new butthole.”

      “Ellie Mae Weston. I’ll not have that kind of talk in this household.”

      “Sorry, Ma, but I can’t help it if it’s true.”

      “You colored your hair green. It’s understandable he had issues with it. You represent Weston Boots. I wasn’t too thrilled myself.”

      “I’m stuck behind a stack of accounting ledgers and a computer screen. No one even sees me. Besides, green hair was no cause to go and write me out of your will.”

      “I did no such thing and you know it.” She pinned her youngest daughter with a stern glare. “But I wouldn’t go counting your chickens yet, young lady. There’s still time, especially if you keep pushing me.”

      Ellie touched the now purple tufts of hair sticking up on her head. “It’s just fashion, Ma.”

      “It’s purple, for pity’s sake.” Another shake of her head and Claire Weston sighed. “I swear you’re trying to send me into an early grave.”

      “Hey, I’m not stupid.” Ellie winked at Brady. “Can’t give her a chance to change the will, now, can I?”

      “Ellie Mae Weston!”

      “Sorry, Ma.”

      Claire shook her head and turned back to Brady. “Pay her no nevermind. Your grandfather is as ornery as ever, that’s true. But he’s missed you. We all have.”

      “I’ve missed you all, too.”

      “Now.” She hooked her arm through his. “Let’s go in and say hello.” Before he could protest, she ushered him forward, steering him down the hall and into the dining room. “Look who’s joining us for lunch,” she announced as they walked into the room.

      “If it’s that freeloading Slim Cadbury from the VFW, just tell him to go find his own apple pie. I don’t care how nice he is, he isn’t getting so much as a whiff. Why, the man’s only interested in you for your food, Claire. Don’t I keep telling you that—” The old man’s words stumbled to a halt as his gaze lit on Brady.

      Time seemed to stand still for Zachariah Brady Weston for the next several moments as he stared at his only grandson, his gaze as black, as unreadable, as Brady remembered.

      His first instinct was to turn and run. He’d always felt that way whenever he’d been under his grandfather’s inspection. Every Sunday morning before church. Every afternoon at the boot factory. Every Friday night after one of his high school hockey games.

      And he’d always reacted the same. He’d simply stood his ground and waited for the criticism to come, praying for the approval. More often than not he’d received the first, but on occasion, the old man had smiled and congratulated him on a job well done.

      This didn’t seem to be one of those occasions.

      Rather than dwell on the doubts raging inside him, Brady took the time to notice the changes eleven years had wrought.

      His grandfather’s hair had gone from a salt-and-pepper shade to snow-white. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, the wrinkles etching his forehead more pronounced and plentiful. He looked older, yet his eyes were as blue and as bright as they’d always been. Brady knew then that eleven years might have aged the elder Weston on the surface but, deep down, he was the same man he’d been way back when.

      Unease rolled through Brady and he had the urge to turn and walk away again. Now. Before he put his pride on the line and subjected himself to his grandfather’s rejection—again.

      Brady forced a deep breath and met the older man’s penetrating stare. He wasn’t going anywhere. He’d waited for this moment for much too long. Dreamt of it when his life had been less than perfect and he’d regretted leaving in the first place. He couldn’t turn back now. He wasn’t going to, no matter the outcome.

      Brady’s gaze clashed with blue eyes so much like his own and if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he actually saw joy in the old man’s eyes. The same joy he’d seen time and time again when he’d been younger, following his grandfather around the boot plant or the pasture or the barn.

      Brady had always followed, at least when it came to his family. Among the rest of Cadillac, he’d been a leader, but at home he’d let others lead, content in knowing that one day he would have his chance to step up to the plate and bat.

      He’d been a good, obedient grandson until he’d thrown it all away that one fateful day and gone against his family’s wishes. All in the name of love. A no-no as far as Zachariah Weston had been concerned.

      “There ain’t room in a man’s life for both work and family. Take your daddy for instance. He tried to have it all and worked himself into an early grave. You’ve got plenty of time to have a wife and family. Now’s the time for work. For focus,” he’d said.

      “Aren’t you going to say something, Zach?” Claire prodded, disrupting Brady’s thoughts. “Brady’s come all this way to see us.”

      The man reached for his napkin and tucked it in at his neck. “When are we going to eat?” he asked Claire.

      She planted her hands on her hips the way Brady remembered from his childhood. While she held the same values as her father-in-law, she’d never been quite as obedient as he’d wanted when it came to standing up for what she thought was right. And, of course, she’d distracted Brady’s father at a time when he should have been focused on the company.

      “Is that all you have to say?” Claire asked.

      “What are we eating?”

      Claire growled. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

      “I’m hungry, that’s what I am. Call it what you like.”

      She eyed him a few moments more. Then, as if she’d decided on a new approach, her expression softened and she smiled. “Doesn’t Brady look good? Thanks to those Weston genes, of course.”

      Brady stood stock-still beneath his grandfather’s disapproving gaze as the man swept him from head to toe. He knew what the elder Weston thought of his attire—the silk dress shirt. The expensive slacks. Yuppie, that’s what Zachariah Weston was thinking. His only grandson had turned into a yuppie.

      The sad truth was, he was right. Eleven years had taken their toll.

      But no more, Brady vowed for the umpteenth time. He was shedding his image and getting back to his roots. His past. His family.

      The old man’s gaze dropped to the dusty cowboy boots Brady had unearthed the day before