The Pleasure Principle

by Kimberly Raye

  “Good morning,” Brady said as the old man walked by. Other than the slight flare of the man’s nostrils, he gave no indication that he was even aware of Brady’s presence, much less interested in pastries.

  So much for an edge.

  Brady grabbed the bag of donuts and handed them to Zeke. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Thanks,” the man said a moment later around a mouthful of donut.

  “It’s nothing.” Unfortunately. But Brady wasn’t giving up. He’d known that winning his grandfather’s favor back wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to try. Today was just the beginning.

  “I HATE MONDAYS,” Ellie groused later that morning as she walked into the Weston Boots office, a cup of cappuccino in one hand and a donut in the other.

  Brady pulled off one of his gloves and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Think of it this way. Monday is the beginning of the week. A fresh start.”

  She frowned. “I should have known it.”

  “What?”

  “With all that smiling you’ve been doing. All the grins and the winks, and all without benefit of caffeine.” She eyed him and nodded. “Yep, it’s a sure thing.”

  “What?”

  “Dallas turned you into one of those bright-eyed and bubbly morning-a-holics.”

  Actually, that transformation had come about just a few short days ago when Brady Weston had rolled back into Cadillac to reclaim his former life. Before that he’d been like every other big city suit—consumed by his work. He’d spent his evenings, his weekends and most holidays at the office. And all to maintain the lifestyle that Sally had grown accustomed to. He’d worked his ass off to please her. To live up to his responsibilities. To honor the commitment he’d made when he’d said “I do.”

  She’s not your kind. His grandfather’s words echoed in his head the way they had so many times over the past ten years, but Brady forced it aside. He wasn’t dwelling on the past. He’d made his mistakes and learned from them. Today was a new beginning. The first day of the rest of his life right here in Cadillac.

  He grinned and raised the blind. Sunlight streamed into the office and Ellie shielded her eyes. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

  “Now why would I do that to my favorite sister?”

  “You’re still mad because I told Katy Milner that you wanted to give her a hickey.”

  “Actually, little sis, I’m glad you told Katy. She stopped playing hard to get and came after me.” He grabbed her donut, took a bite and winked. “Don’t work too hard.”

  Ellie snatched back what was left of her breakfast and growled. “I’d say the same to you, but I know you’re not going to listen. You’re determined to make the rest of us look bad.”

  “I’m just glad to be back. To be doing something I actually like.”

  “I wish I could say the same.” Ellie’s words followed Brady out the door and down the hall to the staircase that led to the second-floor administrative offices. He’d started to wonder if his presence was to blame for his little sister’s perpetual foul mood. After all, she’d had their grandfather all to herself for the past ten years and now she had to share him. But there was something else going on, something deeper, and Brady once again speculated that, perhaps, Ellie wasn’t happy with her life.

  “Hey there, son.” His grandfather’s voice sounded behind him and killed any more exploration of the subject. “Ready to tackle a full day’s production?”

  The question drew a full grin. The old man had actually asked him a direct question.

  At least, that’s what Brady thought until he found his grandfather staring past him at Zeke, who still had a speck of white crÈme at the corner of his mouth.

  “Why, yes, sir. I’m always ready.”

  “He are you were here early today. I like that.”

  “I like to get a jump on my work.”

  “Or a jump into the shower,” Brady grumbled. Not that he was being a bad sport. He’d known winning his grandfather’s favor back wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to try.

  So determined that he showed up the next morning with his grandfather’s favorite pancakes and sausages from the Turtle Diner over on North Street.

  The old bull at least did more than sniff. He actually glanced at the foam box before ignoring Brady’s good-morning, congratulating Zeke on his punctuality and heading for his office.

  “Man, are you sure you don’t want some of this?” Zeke asked when Brady handed him the breakfast.

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  For food, that is. But he was still hungry for something else. For someone else. For, although his days were filled with thoughts of winning over his grandfather, his nights were overflowed with fantasies of Eden.

  The thought drew a vision of her, her lips slick and pouty from his kiss. They’d just shared one kiss. But come Saturday night there would be more. More touches. More kisses. More.

  His heart pounded at the thought. But as the week progressed, the nights long and sleepless and the days filled with work, his excitement turned to anxiety. After all, he was going to sleep with the woman. Time to find out the truth.

  I need a real man.

  “Damn, boy. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” Brady replied before he realized that his grandfather’s question wasn’t directed at him. As if he could expect anything different.

  “Zeke,” he said to the young man fighting with the branding iron, “you got to get a better grip than that if you want the brand to be deep enough to last, and everybody knows a real pair of Western boots has a brand that lasts.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I used to break horses, not brand them. I’m afraid this is new to me.”

  “Now, Granddaddy, stop grousing at Zeke. Everybody who’s ever picked up a brand knows it takes time to get it right,” Ellie said as she waltzed past, box in hand, and handed out paychecks, the late Friday-afternoon ritual.

  “New? Why, he’s been here a full two weeks. I was branding on my first day.”

  “Which is why you’re the boss,” Ellie told him as she handed over the box of checks and walked over to Zeke. “It’s really not that hard,” she told the young man. “Just think of it as branding a heifer, but a lot less trouble. After all, the boot’s not going to whine or put up a fight. There’s zero chance you’ll get kicked. See—” She took the branding iron in one hand and a brand-new boot fresh from the tanner in her other. “Hold it just like this for about five seconds and, presto, you’ve got a custom-designed, one-of-a-kind Weston boot.”

  “Thanks, Miss Ellie,” Zeke said after she demonstrated a second and then a third time before handing him the branding iron.

  “Anytime.” She winked before turning and retrieving the paycheck box.

  “I need those account reports by this afternoon,” their grandfather told her.

  “I’m on it.”

  “And last month’s invoices.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? I’ve still got to finish up the balance sheets for the previous month and it’s already noon.”

  He slid his arm around her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Guess you’ll have to order in for the three of us. Zeke and I are going to take a look at that old tanning machine that keeps cooking the leather. I like to show all my new guys all the equipment, even the malfunctioning kind.”

  New, as in Brady. Only Zachariah Weston wasn’t treating him like the other newbies. He was ignoring him. Punishing him.

  Brady clamped his lips together and turned back to the hammer and leather at his fingertips.

  “I checked the timer on that old machine last week,” he told Zeke as he ushered him down the hall, “and it seems to me—”

  “It ain’t the timer,” Ellie said as she followed.

  “Sure it is.”

  “But I tested it myself and—”

  “Give Murray over at the Pig-n-Pit a call, would ya, darlin’? And order us up a couple of double rib burgers
with onion rings. It’ll be my treat since Zeke, here, has been so punctual every morning. Got to reward good work habits.”

  “But I…” She caught her bottom lip and chewed for a long second before shaking her head. “No problem.”

  “That’s my girl.” He patted her shoulder and a smile spread across her face. But the expression didn’t quite touch her eyes and Brady got the feeling that she wasn’t nearly as pleased with their grandfather’s comment as she wanted him to think. “And you’ll have the reports by this afternoon.”

  “Never a doubt in my mind, honey. Now you run along and let us get to work.”

  Work. The one and only thing that helped Brady get through the rest of his day. He could focus his attention on something constructive rather than fret over his grandfather’s coldness, not to mention the coming weekend.

  And he was fretting.

  What had started out as excitement had quickly morphed into full-blown anxiety as the moment of truth approached.

  I need a real man who can satisfy me.

  His ex-wife’s parting words haunted him for the next few days, feeding his anxiety until Friday night arrived and Brady found himself questioning his decision.

  Did he really think he could satisfy a woman like Eden Hallsey?

  He knew her reputation. She wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears virgin who would cling to him. She was a real woman. A sexy-as-all-get-out woman who wouldn’t be content with clumsy kisses or a mediocre performance in bed. For Eden he would have to go the extra mile.

  The trouble was, after eleven years in an unhappy marriage, Brady wasn’t sure if he knew what that extra mile entailed.

  But he intended to find out.

  With that vow in mind, he pulled out of the parking lot of Weston Boots late that Friday evening and headed into town for some reinforcements.

  BRADY STARED through his windshield at the red tin building located one street over from the main strip through town. White trim accented the door and window shutters and gave the place a barn look. Of course, it had been a barn way back when Cecil Montgomery had used it to house his milk cows before selling out to Lulu Kenner—the oldest, meanest math teacher to ever smack a hand while working out an algebraic equation. Thanks to a double order of chili fries that had sent her husband Jeb to his death and a nice, fat insurance check, Lulu had given up her ruler, taken an early retirement and gone into business for herself.

  Brady glanced up at the red neon sign glittering in the window. Miss Lulu’s Video World.

  Hey, it wasn’t Lookin’ for Love, the adult store located a few blocks over from his office back in Dallas, but it would have to do. He’d seen the blazing red neon sign on more than one occasion, but he’d never had a mind to pay a personal visit. He’d been too busy working himself from dusk ‘til dawn, living up to his responsibilities to worry about his carnal knowledge.

  Or lack of.

  He closed his mind to the negative thought and climbed out of his pick-up. Coming home wasn’t about regret. It was about living. Today. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night.

  Boots crunched gravel, the sound mingling with the buzz of crickets as he walked to the entrance. A bell tinkled, announcing his arrival, and Brady soon found himself in the new release section of Miss Lulu’s.

  “Can I help you?” The voice drew him around and Brady found himself staring at a young teen, a Cadillac High football jersey pulled tight across his young chest. A straw cowboy hat sat perched atop his head while a toothpick wiggled at one corner of his mouth. “If you want Coyote Ugly, there’s only one copy and we’re fresh out. We’re always fresh out since I finally talked Granny into ordering the danged thing in the first place.” He grinned. “Said there wasn’t much of a story line, but then I convinced her it weren’t the story line that was going to sell the blasted thing and we were in business. Now I do all the ordering. And the clerking when I finish practice. So what can I do you for? You looking for a particular title?”

  “Not really.”

  “Something featuring a certain actor. Me, I watch everything with Demi Moore. She’s hot.”

  “I’m not too particular. I just need something that a woman would like.”

  “You mean a chick flick? One of those tear-jerker movies? I got just the thing. Steel Magnolias. It’s got all this female bonding stuff and—”

  “Not that kind of a chick flick. Something more…romantic.”

  “Sure thing. Ghost. It’s an older movie, but the chicks really go for it. It’s like a psychological, undying love sort of thing and—”

  “I mean romantic romantic.”

  “Sure thing. Right over there is Gone with the Wind. You can’t get more—”

  “Sexy. I need sexy.”

  “Well, there’s always American Gigolo. I can’t see it myself, but my girl says Richard Gere’s about as sexy as they—”

  “Sex,” Brady blurted. “I need sex.” He drew in a deep breath. “Do you have anything that’s romantic and physical with a female slant?”

  A light bulb seemed to go off in the young man’s head and he smiled. “Sure, man. I’ve got just the thing.”

  Several minutes later, Brady found himself walking out of Miss Lulu’s with a bagful of videos, including 9 1/2 Weeks, an erotic thriller guaranteed to give him some pointers on really satisfying a woman.

  After eleven years in a not-so-satisfying marriage, Brady needed all the help he could get.

  “SO I TOLD HIM, it’s either me or Rudy T.”

  “I thought Jim was into football,” Eden told the twenty-something blonde sitting at the bar, nursing a beer late Saturday afternoon. Trina McWilliams had married her college sweetheart, Big Jim, a little over six months ago. The entire town figured them for the perfect couple. Whenever Big Jim was out plowing his field, Trina would be perched up on the tractor right next to him.

  “Jim is into football.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, but Rudy T is the head coach for the Houston Rockets.” At Trina’s blank look, Eden added, “They’re a basketball team.”

  Reality seemed to dawn and Trina shook her head. “No wonder he looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye. I’m not really into sports.” She shook her head. “Maybe marrying Jim was a big mistake. After all, what do we really have in common?”

  “It’s only been a few months. Give it some time.”

  “And it’ll only get worse,” Dottie Abernathy said as she slid into her usual seat at the bar and requested her screaming orgasm. “Now it’s football,” she told Trina as she reached for a nearby bowl of popcorn. “Next year he’ll be into baseball. Then there’s basketball. And hockey. And just wait until hunting season.” Dottie rolled her eyes. “When it’s us or a big buck, darlin’, guess who’s plumb out of luck?”

  Trina’s face seemed to brighten. “Big Jim doesn’t like to hunt. He’s more into fishing.”

  “A buck or a bass, it makes no nevermind. The end result is the same. Zero time together.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Eden said as she replaced Trina’s empty beer bottle with an ice-cold Coke. “She’s married to one of the nicest men in the county.”

  “Nice has nothing to do with it.” Dottie turned to Trina. “I want attentive.”

  “Me, too. I mean, Big Jim is as sweet as a moon pie, but when the TV is on, I might as well not even exist.”

  Eden filled a bowl with honey-roasted cashews and slid it across the countertop toward Dottie. With the way she was already going on about her husband, she deserved to indulge tonight. “It’s not full of testosterone, but maybe this will make you feel better.” Eden turned her attention to her third and last customer. “Hey there, Grace. You okay with that soda?”

  “Sure thing, sugar. But I sure could use some more of this popcorn.” Her gaze never wavered from the television set perched in the far corner of the bar. Gracie McVie was one of the oldest residents of Cadillac and a die-hard court TV fan. Since the old folks’ home out on the highway had hired a new social director who was
also a fanatical dieter, the TV room had turned into a workout gym filled with back-to-back Sweatin’ with the Oldies videos.

  Gracie was too old to sweat, or so she’d told Eden the first day she’d walked through the front door and asked if Eden had a television. She hadn’t had one back then, but she’d pulled her own from her apartment above the bar and hooked it up on a shelf in the far corner. Gracie had been forever grateful and had come in every Saturday since.

  “Judge Jackie’s about to give the heave-ho to that there seamstress for goofing on the plaintiff’s wedding dress the day of the wedding. Imagine that. The day of. Why, if someone had goofed on my dress the day I married my dear, sweet Bernie—God rest his soul—I would’ve let loose a couple of rounds of buckshot and asked questions later. Of course, that was before my arthritis set in.” She flexed her fingers. “It’s hell getting old.”

  “You’re not old,” Eden started, but Gracie had already waved her into silence.

  “The judge is about to deliver his verdict.”

  Eden was about to turn and head back to Trina and Dottie when she heard the voice behind her.

  “Kind of slow for a Saturday night, isn’t it?”

  She tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. “Actually, this is the usual. The Pink Cadillac isn’t the hot spot it used to be.”

  “Since when?” Brady asked as he reached the bar.

  “Since Jake Marlboro decided he wanted to buy me out,” she told him, noting how potently masculine he looked in his soft cotton shirt and Wranglers.

  “I never would’ve had Jake figured for the bar owner type.”

  “He isn’t. He wants the Pink Cadillac and every other business on this block so that he can put up a MegaMart.”

  He nodded. “My uncle mentioned that. I never pictured him owning a department store.”

  “He doesn’t own them. He just builds them. Mega hired him to site out the best location and construct store number two hundred twenty-seven.”

  “And you got lucky.”

  “It’s not luck. This bar has been in my family for years and it’s staying in the family as long as I have anything to say about it.” The trouble was, with business declining, Eden wasn’t sure how much longer she would have something to say about it. Her savings would only last so long. After that, suppliers would stop supplying if the bills weren’t being paid and then…