if every one of the surrounding counties heard.” Claire Weston eyed her only son for a long moment, before her gaze softened. “It’s about damned time,” she finally declared, moving past her daughter to pull her son into her arms. “It’s been much too long.”
“I wanted to come home sooner, but I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Another hug and she pulled away.
Surprisingly, her eyes glistened with tears and something shifted inside of Brady. While growing up, he’d seen his mother cry only once and that had been at his father’s funeral. Claire Weston, as strong as the 150-year-old oak tree growing in the backyard, had buried relatives, seen her family through many trials, and not once had she lost control of her emotions, a character trait that no doubt pleased her father-in-law. Tears were for the weak, and there wasn’t anything weak about the Westons.
One hundred years ago, Miles Weston had started Weston Boots all by himself. He’d handtooled leather from sunup to sundown, using little more than a makeshift tin shack out behind his barn as a workshop. He’d started something that generations after had continued. The Westons were hard workers, diligent, persistent, strong.
“It’s good to see you,” Brady said, giving his mother a warm smile.
“I hope this means what I think it means,” she told him.
“That depends.”
“I don’t care what the old man says, you’re staying.”
“We’ll see.” He smiled and wiped at a stray tear gliding down her cheek. “You’re looking as sexy as ever.”
She sniffled and gathered her composure. “I see you’ve still got a fresh mouth.”
“And you’re still the prettiest woman in Cadillac.” A loud cough and he turned toward his sister. “One of the prettiest women.” Ellie rewarded him with a smile. “And speaking of pretty women, where are Brenda and Marsha?” Brenda was his oldest sister and Marsha the next to the oldest.
“Brenda’s in Arizona for the next few weeks learning all about her uterus,” Ellie said.
“What?”
“She and Marc are finally going to give in to Granddaddy’s nagging and do the baby thing. But you know Brenda. She’s a perpetual planner. Before she even thinks of going off the pill, she wants to know everything there is to know about conception and babies. She’s at a convention given by Dr. Something or Other who wrote that book My Uterus, My Friend. Marc’s going to the workshops with her.”
“And Marsha?”
“She’s at a sales meeting in Chicago. She wants to expand the business, but Granddaddy isn’t so sure. She’s testing the waters with a few samples of next year’s line of snakeskin boots. You should see the new rattlesnake—”
“I really don’t want to talk business on an empty stomach,” their mother cut in. “You,” she said turning to Brady, “are just in time for lunch. I’ll get Dorothy to set another plate and we’ll catch up on old times. And then you two can talk about whatever you like.”
“Yes, ma’am. I see she’s still 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
