The Pleasure Principle. Kimberly Raye

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СКАЧАТЬ great uncle, his grandfather’s little brother, and the classic black sheep of the Weston clan. For as long as Brady could remember, Merle had been the outsider. He’d declined any part of the Weston boot business and opened up his own gas station some thirty-odd years ago, despite his older brother’s fierce objections. After all, Weston Boots was a family affair and Zachariah Weston didn’t take too kindly to his kin going against family tradition.

      Brady knew that firsthand.

      Merle had never seemed to care, however. If anything, he’d gone out of his way just to stay at odds with his older brother. He’d traded the family business and fortune for his own service station that barely made ends meet.

      He’d married the wrong woman, at least according to his older brother whose definition of right involved money—lots of money. And he’d moved clear across town, away from the family ranch that still housed three generations of Westons.

      The older man scratched the side of his head with a faded, rolled-up issue of Popular Mechanics. “Why, I was wonderin’ when you’d finally make it back—hey, there!” His attention shifted to the kids poking around the candy machine. “You young’uns either put some change in or skeedadle, otherwise I’ll take a hickory switch to every single one of you!” He turned back to Brady and his face split into a grin. “You’re lookin’ awful good, son. A little slick,” he said, his gaze sweeping Brady from head to toe as he let out a low whistle. “Awful fancy threads you got there.”

      “One of the hazards of working in Dallas. I see you’re still too cheap to spring for a current edition of Popular Mechanics.” He indicated the rolled-up magazine.

      “The back issues I get from the beauty parlor every six months when Eula cleans off her coffee table are plenty good enough for me.” He winked. “What can I say? The price is right.”

      “There is no price.”

      “That’s why it’s so right. I ain’t made of money like some folks around here.” He winked. “Speaking of which, I heard you’re headin’ up one of them highfalutin ad agencies out there.”

      “Was. I’m through doing the corporate thing. I want to slow down. Speaking of which, my car quit on me out on the highway. You think you could dig up a wrecker and give me a tow?”

      “Sure thing. What kind of car?”

      “Black.”

      “I’m talking make and model.”

      Brady drew in a deep breath. “A Porsche 366.”

      Merle let loose another whistle. “Slick car to go with the duds.”

      “Not for long. These clothes are a mite too hot for me. I’m thinking of changing before I head over to Granddaddy’s place.”

      “You sure as hell better. He’s still a little attached to his Wranglers, and anybody who ain’t wearin’ them amounts to an outsider.”

      “I’ve got a pair in my suitcase.” Several pairs to be more exact. While Brady had left straight from his office and hadn’t taken the time to change, he had come as prepared as possible to face his grandfather after all these years.

      “Since my car’s out of commission, you have any loaners you can spare?”

      “All’s I got is ole Bessie out back.”

      “You mean she actually still runs?” Brady remembered the old Chevy pickup being on its last legs back when he was in high school.

      “On occasion. She’s pretty reliable, so long as you stroke the console ‘afore you start her.”

      “Will do.”

      “I don’t think your grandfather will take too kindly to you driving up in Bessie.”

      True enough, but Zachariah would like it even less seeing his only grandson drive up in a fancy car the likes of which no salt-of-the-earth cowboy would be caught dead in.

      “A truck’s a truck. So,” Brady went on, eager to change the subject, “you’re looking really good. Still sponsoring the same T-ball team and wearing the same shirt.”

      “It ain’t the same. They give me a new one every year. One of the perks. As a matter of fact, I made ‘em give me two shirts this past year ‘cause I hit my twenty-year mark.”

      Brady grinned. “Still spittin’ vinegar, I see.”

      Merle winked before casting a glance at the kids and giving them a look that sent them running. “And pissin’ fire,” he added, turning back to Brady. “Thanks to Maria’s cookin’.”

      “She still make the best tamales this side of the Rio Grande?”

      “And the best dadburned enchiladas. I keep tellin’ her she ought to put all that good cookin’ to use and open up a restaurant. Then I could retire and let Marlboro have this old place.”

      “Jake Marlboro?”

      He nodded. “He’s been itchin’ to buy me out all year. Already talked Cecil over at McIntyre Hardware into selling his place.”

      “Why would he want the old hardware store?”

      “He’s fixing on putting in a Mega Mart. It’s got everything from hardware to groceries. Opened one up over in Inspiration and it’s a big hit. Folks like the convenience, I guess. Me, I’m just a little attached to this place. Not to mention, I ain’t sold Maria on the restaurant idea. She says she’s too busy with all the young’uns.”

      “How many are you up to?”

      “Out of seven grandkids, we’ve got nineteen great-grandbabies, and number twenty’s due any day now.” A smile creased his old face. “Your gramps is pickle green with envy.”

      “And you’re loving every minute of it.”

      Merle’s grin widened. “I never had too many chances to one-up your old grandpa when we were growing up, and I ain’t ashamed to admit that it’s a mite satisfying to know there’s something the old coot wants that he cain’t have.” At Brady’s smile, Merle shrugged. “What can I say? Things ain’t changed much in the past eleven years.”

      Brady sent up a silent prayer. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

      2

      “BRADY’S HOME!” The shout preceded the frantic embrace of Brady’s youngest sister. Before he could so much as get in a hello, she opened the front door, threw herself into his arms and held on for dear life.

      For the next few moments, Brady forgot his doubts and simply relished the feeling. It had been a long time since he’d been hugged so fiercely…since he’d wanted to hug so fiercely.

      “You’re here,” his sister murmured into his shoulder. “You’re really here.” Another quick squeeze and she pulled back enough to give him a scolding look. “It’s about damned time.”

      “Ellie Jane Weston.” The admonishment came from a tall, slender, sixtyish СКАЧАТЬ