The Pleasure Principle. Kimberly Raye

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 he’d left Dallas.

      “Those are Weston boots,” he told Claire, obviously intent on giving Brady the silent treatment. “They’re my boots.” While Brady had inherited his sense of duty from his grandfather, he’d also inherited his mother’s spunk. “You gave them to me, remember?”

      “Tell this young man that, of course, I remember. I ain’t that old.” He eyed the boots again. “They’re still Weston boots.”

      “And I’m a Weston.”

      Zachariah didn’t say anything for a long moment. He simply stared and thought. Brady could practically see the wheels spinning as the old man decided his grandson’s fate in those next few tense moments.

      “Well, don’t just stand there,” the man finally barked at Claire. “Get the boy a seat. He’s here. He might as well eat.”

      Brady let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and the tension eased. Zachariah Weston didn’t eat with strangers. He only broke bread with friends, loved ones, family.

      A warmth filled Brady as he slid into a nearby seat, followed by a swell of regret. Regret for all the lunches he’d missed. For the family he’d missed.

      But he was home, and he was going to make up for lost time starting right now.

      “DOROTHY REALLY OUTDID herself.” Zachariah leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe. “Never had apples that tender.”

      “They were good,” Brady commented, but his grandfather didn’t so much as spare him a glance. He kept his gaze trained on his daughter-in-law.

      “Ask him why he left Dallas.”

      “Why don’t you ask him? He’s sitting right in front of you.”

      “I don’t belong there,” Brady spoke up before his mother could give the old man a piece of her mind. And she would. Claire Weston had never had trouble standing up to her husband when he’d been alive and the same went for his ornery father. “I never did.”

      His gramps didn’t say anything for a long moment. He simply puffed on his pipe and stared at Brady.

      “Ask him what his plans are,” he told his daughter-in-law.

      “Listen, old man, I’m not your puppet—”

      “I was thinking I might like to try my hands at making boots again,” Brady cut in.

      “Did you hear that?” Claire leveled a frown at Zachariah. “Or do you need to turn your hearing aid up?”

      “I don’t wear a hearing aid, little lady, and you’d do well to remember who you’re talking to.” He waved his pipe at her. “I can’t imagine he still knows anything about making boots or that he’s ready to give it his all.”

      “Just like riding a horse,” Brady said. “Once you’ve climbed into the saddle and taken a good ride, you never forget and I wouldn’t give anything less.”

      “Horse riding,” Claire paraphrased, obviously tiring of arguing with the old man. “You never forget and he’s dedicated.”

      The old man nodded and puffed a СКАЧАТЬ