Slow Ride Home (The Grady Legacy)

by Leah Braemel

  “Ah hell, it’s a working truck. Let ’em live with it.” He headed to the front of his uncle’s Victorian red sandstone building to find Allie waiting in the lobby.

  She was back in one of her prim business suits, her hair tucked back into some fancy ‘do. “Hey, you. You look—” edible, fuckable, “—fantastic.” Though he’d intended to give her a light kiss, he ended up taking his time and only barely remembered they were in the middle of a lobby and stopped himself from grabbing her ass. “You’re going to wow Uncle Charlie and end up with a job offer, you realize?”

  “Only if you haven’t smeared my makeup.” Despite her complaint, she leaned up on her toes and kissed him again. “I’ve missed you.”

  She removed a mirror and her lipstick from her purse, then slapped it into his hand. “Here, hold this for me while I repair the damage.”

  What was it about women expecting guys to hold their purses? Couldn’t they leave a guy a little dignity? Even though he was tempted to drop it at her feet, Ben held her purse and pretended not to notice the looks of commiseration from one of the men leaving the building or the smirk of another. The minute she closed up her lipstick, he handed it back as if it were about to catch fire. “Just remember, Uncle Charlie can come off a bit high-handed at times, but he’s kin and he knows you’re lookin’ out for me so he’ll probably go easy on you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. It’s business, and I know what I’m doing.” Tucking her purse under her elbow, she strode confidently across the foyer.

  He found himself hanging back, enjoying the view. Especially the way her hips swung, thanks, no doubt, to the pair of fuck-me high heels almost as high as the ones she’d worn the first day she’d arrived. Black and shiny, the toes were sharp enough to cause major damage if they hit a man’s softer parts, but the heels of this pair showed off her calves and ankles to perfection.

  When he realized they’d be riding the elevator alone, he couldn’t resist asking, “How about I hit the emergency stop button and you give me a repeat performance of the Aerosmith concert?”

  Her response was to hit him in the chest with her purse. “Crass, cowboy. Real crass.”

  The elevator doors slid open, and Allie arched him a look then walked out, as poised as a runway model.

  “You made it.” Logan strode toward them. “Allie, nice to see you again.”

  Ben suppressed a snort when his friend took Allie’s hand in his and lifted her knuckles to his mouth. Considering this was a man who had told him to keep his distance, Logan was laying it on a little strong.

  From the tight smile and the way she freed her hand, Allie thought so too. “Thank you for arranging the meeting with Mr. Carter today.”

  “Anything to help speed this case to its conclusion. Come on, Mr. Carter’s office is upstairs.” As he led them toward the back of the foyer, he gave Allie a running commentary about the wood paneling (oak reclaimed from the ship that had brought the first Carter over from England) and the marble (found during a tour of Italy by the original Mrs. Carter), about how Carter, Murphy and Scott had been together since the turn of the previous century and had served state senators as well as three U.S. vice presidents. By the time Logan launched into a discussion on the art deco characteristics of the building Ben had zoned out.

  Where the hell had the kid he’d wrestled with in the hay fields gone? The kid who wouldn’t have used terms like panache or rococo detailing? What had happened to the Logan who didn’t give a fig about getting grass stains on his hand-me-down jeans instead of this get-up that looked like he’d stepped off some magazine cover? And how come he hadn’t noticed before?

  Allie appeared to be interested in whatever Logan was talking about. They’d both changed. If he didn’t know them, he’d think they’d make a good couple. Up-and-comers in Dallas’s high society.

  Yet here he was, wearing a pair of jeans he’d bought on sale at the nearest big box department store and a pair of scuffed work boots. Oh sure, if someone asked, he could tell them he was part owner of a seventy-one thousand acre spread, with oil and gas wells, a hunting lodge that slept twelve (although they hadn’t opened it to hunters since his father’s death) and three thousand head of cattle. On paper it looked fine. But it didn’t mean he had millions in his bank account. Not that some of the women he dated believed him—most of the local women thought Bull’s Hollow was built of gold nuggets. Until they realized that some days he came home stinking of cow shit and blood and all sorts of other fluids, especially if it was calving season. That everyone on the ranch, including his mother and grandmother, had been expected to pitch in, whether it was so cold frost coated your eyelids or when the mercury hit over a hundred and the humidity resembled a greenhouse.

  They’d also quickly discovered that the money the ranch made in selling cattle at the end of the year was pretty much the only paycheck he got in a year and it had to be reserved to pay the hands their salaries through the year and buy medicine and feed and everything else it took to keep a ranch running. And if they expected witty conversation, he’d be more likely to wonder aloud if Jake had managed to roll out of bed and make sure the cattle in Juniper pasture were accounted for. If Gabe had checked on Miree to make sure she hadn’t foaled overnight. If the order he’d called in to the feed store would be delivered and put away properly in case the rain the weatherman was calling for hit before he got home, or how many ranch hands would still be working for him at the end of the day. Yeah, ranching was real glamorous.

  By the time they reached his uncle’s outer office, Ben had convinced himself he shouldn’t have come into Dallas at all, that Allie could have handled this meeting by herself.

  His uncle appeared, wearing a suit that looked even more expensive than Logan’s. He grabbed Ben’s hand in a bone-crushing grip that surprised anyone expecting such a thin man to be weak. “There’s my great nephew. How you doin’, boy? How’s your momma?” Without waiting for Ben’s response, Charlie eyed Allie in a shrewd assessment. “This must be Ms. O’Keefe.”

  They exchanged pleasantries, and then Charlie led them into his massive corner office with its windows overlooking Turtle Creek on one side and Dallas’s downtown district on the other. Once again Ben found himself letting the conversation drift over him, until Allie explained Tank’s claim.

  “Of course George never had a child with any woman other than my sister. George was a God-fearing man. He honored the vows he took with my sister. He wouldn’t have stepped out on her.” The liver spots on Charlie’s hands tightened as his fingers curled into fists. “If you don’t mind, while you’re here I’d like to get a deposition of what you’ve told me so we can sue this Panola for defamation of character.”

  In one of his famous ways to throw an opponent off, Uncle Charlie switched topics, inquiring about Allie’s law school degree and what she’d been doing since she’d graduated. The talk dragged on as they discussed various other defamation cases, then diverged into a discussion of the New York bar exam versus Texas’s exam. It rankled that Charlie twisted her words in an attempt to pick apart her arguments. His chest swelled in admiration at her ability to deftly turn them back on the wily old coot.

  As Allie replied, Uncle Charlie leaned across the desk and pressed a button. Without saying a word, his assistant quietly appeared with a cup of coffee and a file folder, handed them both to her boss, then just as quietly disappeared. He leafed through the file folder and without looking up, said, “I understand your former employer is refusing to give you any sort of reference.”

  “My former employer is my former father-in-law,” she said tightly.

  “Hmm, tricky business, that.” Not looking up at her, he continued his examination, picking away at her work. Asking about what cases she’d handled in Albany. The more he poked and prodded, the straighter Allie’s spine got. Finally he put the file down and leaned back in his chair. “You like working’ with SSTG, Ms. O’Keefe? Busting your butt on insurance claims all day instead of solv
ing real legal cases? Don’t you think that’s a waste of your degree?”

  Allie’s nose tipped a mite higher. “Not at all. It’s just applying the law in a different way.”

  “No, it’s pushing papers. Being a flunky for someone else. There’s nothing like the satisfaction of standing up in front of a judge in court, pleading your case or negotiating a contract for a client.”

  “I get the satisfaction of representing my clients and making sure their cases are properly represented. And I’ll be responsible for the paperwork when we sue Mr. Panola for clouding the title.”

  “But I bet that when you win a case for SSTG, you don’t get a cut of the share, do you?”

  When Allie narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond, Charlie made a patronizing sound in the back of his throat then stood. “Well, if we’re done shooting the breeze here, I’ve got work to do. Thank you for coming in to speak with me in person. I appreciate that I didn’t have to deal with your boss—I can’t say I’ve met such an unpleasant woman.”

  He walked to the door and continued right out past his assistant, leaving the three of them looking at each other.

  Logan recovered first and escorted them back down to the lobby. “I made us reservations for lunch. Hope you’re both hungry, because the chef’s a good friend of mine and he makes a wicked quinoa and shrimp stir fry that you’ll love.”

  What the hell was quinoa? Ben wondered as he took Allie’s hand and followed Logan out of the building.

  * * *

  Allie sampled one of the dishes Logan had ordered for them, paying little attention to the flavors bursting on her tongue. Instead her mind dissected the meeting with Charles Carter and how Ben’s mood had soured. At first she’d figured he was hungry, or bored listening to Charlie and her discussing points of law. She enjoyed the retorts and ripostes with Charlie—he had a sharp mind that challenged hers. She figured when they got to the restaurant Ben would relax, but instead he’d gotten grumpier.

  He’d snarked about the Bentleys and Mercedes filling the lot, complained how the tie the maître d’ had made him wear felt like a noose, his shoulders hunched over as another wait staff in an old-fashioned white shirt, black slacks and white apron, with a white towel flipped over his arm, filled their water glasses and arranged their silverware. When they’d handed him the menu written in Italian, he’d managed to figure out most of the dishes, although he had questioned the ingredients of aïoli and groused about the lack of a plain old steak and all the fixings; He’d closed his menu, pointed to Logan and said, “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

  She leaned over to touch Ben’s arm and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “I figured we’d eat somewhere normal. Somewhere with burgers and...” He leaned closer. “I didn’t know I’d need a suit to eat lunch.”

  * * *

  She squeezed his hand, to let him know she understood his discomfort. “We can stop off for a burger and fries once we leave.”

  “Gonna have to.” He prodded the two-inch-wide square stack of quinoa with his fork, toppling the dozen edamame and strips of red and green pepper onto the single grilled tiger shrimp. “This wouldn’t be enough to feed a canary.”

  Even Logan must have realized Ben’s mood because as soon as they finished eating, he called for the check. Ben offered to split the tab only to be refused, so the moment Logan paid the bill, Ben jumped to his feet. “Thanks for arranging that meeting with Uncle Charlie, Lo. But we gotta go.”

  Allie had to sprint to keep up with Ben, as his long legs ate up the sidewalk in his race to get into his truck. “Hold up. I’m wearing heels here.”

  He stopped to face her and blew out a breath. “Sorry, I just felt...”

  “Out of place? Like you didn’t belong?”

  “I’m that obvious, huh?”

  “Just a little.” She looped her arm with his as he began walking again, slower this time. “That was me when I first started dating Lewis.”

  “He wanted you to get all gussied up? Pretend like his shit don’t stink?”

  She laughed at the sideways look an older woman gave them as they passed. “Sort of. His family had money—his father’s firm was very similar to your uncle’s. He’d been raised to know what fork went with what dish and I...well, I didn’t.”

  “And you let him beat all these fancy manners into you and everything else out.”

  “He never beat me.”

  “You know what I mean.” They’d reached his truck but before she could open the door, he slapped his hand on the top and held it closed, trapping her between them. “You fit right in. You and Logan both.”

  “I didn’t always fit in. It took a lot of hard work.”

  “Do you like it?” Frustration filled his voice. “All this small talk and fancy dressing?”

  “It’s how some of the world works. If I want to be good at my job, I have to fit in. I have to play their games. Whether I like it or not.”

  His eyes searched hers. “I’d rather just be me. Feel comfortable in my own skin and be able to speak my mind without having to carry a damned thesaurus. Sure doesn’t seem worth giving up who you are to please others. Far as I’m concerned, they either like me or they don’t. Their choice.”

  “I’ve not given up who I am.” Except she had, hadn’t she? She’d not seen how she’d changed until she’d accompanied Lewis to a restaurant on their third anniversary and found herself air-kissing one of his friends and talking about Botox treatments and listening to complaints about how their SUV’s heated seats didn’t warm fast enough for the woman’s liking. Later that night, she and Lewis had undressed and carefully folded their clothes, climbed into bed and turned the lights out before discussing if they needed to have sex as part of their celebration. It had been the epiphany that she hated her life, hated who she’d become.

  Maybe that moment had been the beginning of the end of their marriage.

  “Tell you what. Let’s go over to Fort Worth, get a big order of ribs at your favorite restaurant down in the Stockyards.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” The gratitude in Ben’s voice, along with the reassuring squeeze he gave her shoulder, melted the objections deep inside Allie’s chest. “Oh, shit. I forgot. I promise Ma I’d stop in at Gram’s and say hi. She’s not far from here. It’ll take like a half hour and then we’ll ease out the door, I promise.”

  It turned out that Agnes Grady lived only a couple of blocks away in a very upscale condominium. “She lives alone,” Ben explained as they rode the elevator to the fourth floor. “It’s not like it’s a nursing home but each floor has a full-time nurse to check in on the residents every day, make sure they’re okay and that they’re eating properly and taking their meds. It takes a load off Mom’s mind, knowing Gram’s taken care of.”

  “I know it’s none of my business but this part of town is expensive, how can your family afford it?” Maybe Agnes’s brother paid her bills? Though from what she gathered of Charlie Carter, while his office might be designed to impress his clients, he wasn’t one to spend money if he didn’t think it would come back to him threefold.

  Ben held open the door while she stepped off the elevator. “You gotta remember, Gram’s a Carter of the Carter Valley Carters.” He made air quotes round the Carter Valley Carters part. “She has her own money that her father made sure was kept separate from the Bull’s Hollow finances.”

  “In other words, she’s loaded.”

  “She’s not up there with Alice Walton or Ross Perot, but yeah, she’s rich.”

  “So if the bank does decide to freeze any accounts, she could probably fund you until we get this sorted out.”

  Ben snorted. “Are you kidding? Gram wouldn’t open her checkbook to pay one penny of Pop’s medical bills when he fell off a tractor and hurt his back a few years back. If she couldn’t even help out her own son when he was sick, she’s not about to give me a break.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she claims she was forced to marry Gr
amps and live on the ranch when she wanted to live in the city and have...well, the life Logan’s living now.”

  That might explain the woman’s constantly sour attitude when Allie had known her. “What do you mean, forced to marry your grandfather? Did she get pregnant and have a shotgun wedding?”

  “No, but it was sort of an arranged marriage.” He stopped in front of a door with a brass plaque proclaiming it to be the Carter Suite. “Back in the fifties, before Gramps married Gram, Bull’s Hollow was on the verge of bankruptcy. From the way Gramps told it, some of it was because of some bad decisions my great-grandfather made, but most of it was because there was a really bad drought back then and they couldn’t feed their cattle and had no hay to sell. Gram’s father had money but he was seeking a seat on the Senate and one of his handlers told him he could swing the rural vote if he had ties to a ranch instead of just banks and stocks and crap, right? According to Gram, he sat her down and told her that if she was a good daughter, she’d help out her father by marrying Gramps.”

  “She could have said no.”

  “Maybe. But the story is that her father threatened to cut off any inheritance unless she gave in.” He knocked on the door and called to announce himself. “So she did, but she was smart too and other than allowing her father to give George a very large check as a wedding present, enough to get Bull’s Hollow back in the black, she got her father’s lawyers to tie up her inheritance so Gramps could never touch it.”

  Allie had to admire Agnes’s thinking considering the environment of that day and age. But what type of mother refused to pitch in when her son or grandsons were in need?

  The door swung open, revealing Agnes Grady herself. The last decade hadn’t been kind to Agnes. The once strong-backed woman was bent over a walker, her hair completely white and much thinner than Allie remembered.

  Despite the fragility of her appearance, her eyes were still sharp. They darted over Allie briefly, as if she were deciding if she were a threat, then settled on her grandson.