tonight.”
“No.” James smiled. “Not tonight.”
“You said you’d explain that cholesterol-laden feast once we’d finished it.”
“You don’t mind if we have a chat first, do you?”
Ryan frowned. His grandfather’s tone was light. Why, then, did he feel so uneasy?
“No, of course not. What would you like to talk about?”
“I told you. What’s new in your life?”
“Well, let’s see... We’ve decided to bid on that property in Santa Fe, and the subdivision we’re developing outside Vegas will—”
“How did you get that bruise on your jaw?”
Ryan grinned. “Would you believe me if I said I bumped against the shower door, reaching down for the soap?”
“No,” James said, his eyebrows lifting. “I would not. Did some irate husband give it to you?”
“Grandfather!” Ryan shook his head. “I’m surprised at you,” he said, trying not to smile. “You know I believe in the sanctity of marriage.”
The old man got a strange look on his face. “I’m counting on that. And I’m still waiting to hear how you came by that bruise.”
“Suppose I said a woman gave it to me?”
James chuckled. “I’d say you probably more than deserved it. All right, don’t tell me how it happened. I don’t suppose it matters.” He tapped his cigar against the rim of an ashtray. “What else is new?”
“Well, that Vegas subdivision—”
“Yes, yes,” James said impatiently, “I’m sure Kincaid, Incorporated, is doing fine. You’ve made an enormous success of the company, more than I ever did, and we both know it.”
Ryan laughed. “Wait a minute,” he said. “This is too much for one evening. First that meal, then flattery—”
“I meant,” James said, his voice overriding Ryan’s, “what’s new in your private life?”
“Ah.” Ryan smiled and sat down. “We go straight to the bottom line. You want to know if I’ve proposed marriage to anyone between now and the last time I saw you.”
“Not to ‘anyone,’” his grandfather said without smiling back. “To a woman who would make a good wife.”
“A proper wife,” Ryan said, and chuckled.
“I see nothing amusing here, young man!”
“I was just thinking of a conversation I had with Frank Ross—you remember Frank, don’t you, sir?”
“I do. I take it he has not settled down yet, either.”
“I’m not sure you appreciate how the world has changed,” Ryan said gently. “Women aren’t what they were.”
“They are precisely what they were. There have always been women men should marry. The trick is to find them.”
“Well, when I find one-”
“When, indeed,” James said sharply. “At the rate you’re going, it will be never. And time is passing.”
“Grandfather,” Ryan said firmly, “I really have no wish to discuss this tonight.”
The old man gave him a searching look. Then he sighed and stubbed out his cigar.
“This room is drafty. Let’s go into the library.”
Ryan rose to his feet. “Let me help you, sir,” he said as James put his hands on the arms of his chair. It was an offer he made each time he saw James struggling to stand. The response was always the same. “I’m not in my grave yet,” the old man would say.
But not tonight.
“Yes,” his grandfather said, “I suppose you’d better.”
Ryan’s eyes shot to the old man’s face, but it gave nothing away. He eased him to his feet, led him across the hall to the library where a fire blazed in the hearth despite the mildness of the fall evening, and settled him into a leather wing chair.
James sighed. “That’s better. Now pour some cognac.”
Ryan started to object, then thought better of it. Why not cognac? Compared to dinner, cognac was small change. He poured drinks, handed one snifter to his grandfather, then drew a chair to the fire and sat down.
“All right, Grandfather,” he said, “let’s have it.”
“Have what?” James assumed an air of innocence.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve pushed me as far as I’m going to go. Now I want some answers. What’s going on?”
“Why are young men always so impatient?”
“Grandfather...” Ryan said, his tone a warning.
“All right, all right. I suppose you know that my eighty-seventh birthday is fast approaching.”
“So you gave yourself an early gift? A meal that would make your doctors tear out their hair if they saw it?”
“This is my life, not theirs.” James’s eyes met his grandson’s. “Do you remember any of what you learned in Sunday school, my boy?”
“Well,” Ryan said carefully, “that depends.”
“I’m referring to the biblical injunction that a man is entitled to live three score years and ten.” James smiled. “I’ve done a bit better than that.”
Ryan smiled, too. “You always managed to get a good return on your investments, sir.”
“I went on that hideous no-fat, no-sugar, no-taste regimen seven years ago at the urging of my doctors. They convinced me that a man of eighty, who’d survived the sort of surgery that kills men half that age, might improve his lot by eating wisely if not well.”
“It was good advice.”
“It was—until now.”
“Come on, Grandfather. You’re not going to throw in the towel just because you’re turning eighty-seven in a couple of months!”
“I had my semiannual checkup last week.” James’s tone was brisk. “The doctors suggested I make certain my affairs were all in order.”
Ryan’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that not even a diet of pap can keep a man living beyond his time—which is as it should be. No one should take up room on this overcrowded planet forever.”
“That’s
