Brady wanted a woman to scream for him…

And after downing four beers, followed by a champagne chaser at the Pink Cadillac a few hours earlier, the solution to Brady’s problem suddenly became clear. He’d find a woman and satisfy her fifty ways ‘til Sunday.

But not just any woman would do. It had to be the woman who’d always managed to get him hot and bothered when he was younger, the woman who’d haunted his dreams since he left town. Eden Hallsey, Cadillac’s resident bad girl. If he could satisfy Eden, then he would know, deep down in his soul, that his ex-wife had been lying.

Just the thought of Eden brought to mind a vision of her as she’d been tonight, staring up at him in the hallway of the bar, her lips plump and parted, desire gleaming in her eyes. Brady’s groin tightened and he shifted in the bed to make himself more comfortable.

Yes, he was going to sleep with Eden Hallsey. And prove to the world, once and for all, that he was every bit a man.

Dear Reader,

Harlequin Blaze is a supersexy new series. If you like love stories with a strong sexual edge, then this is the line for you! The books are fun and flirtatious, the heroes are hot and outrageous. Blaze is a series for the woman who wants more in her reading pleasure….

This month, USA Today bestselling author JoAnn Ross brings you #5 Thirty Nights, a provocative story about a man who wants a woman for only thirty nights of sheer pleasure. Then popular Kimberly Raye poses the question of what women really expect in a man, in the sizzling #6 The Pleasure Principle. Talented Candace Schuler delivers #7 Uninhibited, a hot story with two fiery protagonists who have few inhibitions—about each other! Carly Phillips rounds out the month with another SEXY CITY NIGHTS story set in New York—where the heat definitely escalates after dark…

Look for four Blaze books every month at your favorite bookstore. And check us out online at eHarlequin.com and tryblaze.com.

Enjoy!

Birgit Davis-Todd

Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

Harlequin Blaze

The Pleasure Principle
Kimberly Raye

For Brenna Evelyn Groff,

My little miracle from above. Mommy loves you!

And, as always, for Curt, Brenna’s wonderful father

and the man of my dreams.

I feel truly blessed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR…

Kimberly Raye has always been an incurable romantic, so she considers romance writing the perfect job for her. Especially when all her books feature her favorite type of hero—a rough-and-tough cowboy with tight jeans and a killer smile! Kim lives in the Lone Star State with her very own cowboy, her young son, Joshua, and her brand-new baby girl, Brenna.

For those of you who enjoy The Pleasure Principle, you won’t want to miss the prequel! Get to know Eden Hallsey and the townspeople of Cadillac, Texas, in Show and Tell, Kim’s contribution to Midnight Fantasies, the 2001 Blaze Collection, which hit the stands in July.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

1

AS OWNER AND OPERATOR of the only bar in Cadillac, Texas, Eden Hallsey came into contact with more than her fair share of men. Males of all shapes and sizes—rich and poor, young and old, annoying and nice, homely and handsome. But never had she seen one as handsome, as sexy, as hot as the man standing on the side of the road, next to a steaming black Porsche.

Handsome, as in short, dark hair that framed a GQ face, complete with a straight nose and strong jaw and sensual lips.

Sexy, as in the sensual way his white dress shirt outlined his muscular shoulders and broad chest, while soft, black trousers accented a trim waist and molded to his hips.

Hot as in the beads of perspiration that clung to his forehead, slid down his cheeks, the tanned column of his throat. He wiped his brow as he lifted a hand to flag her down.

Before she even realized what she was doing, her foot shifted to the brake and she started to slow. A few seconds later, she pulled up in front of the sleek sports car and rolled down her window.

“Need some help?” she asked as he walked up. She reached beneath the seat for the Triple A kit her waitress and friend Kasey had given her last Christmas. A click and she started rummaging in the tackle-size box. “Let’s see. I’ve got jumper cables. A jack. Spare can of oil.” A girl had to be prepared, as Kasey always said. Of course, in this situation her friend would have been referring to the tube of Passionate Pink lipstick she’d taped inside the top of the tackle box.

Eden barely ignored the urge to grab the tube and rub some of the color on her lips. Eden Hallsey primped for no man, even one as handsome as this one.

“Pick your poison,” she told him after she’d licked her lips and ticked off the remaining contents of the box.

“A gun would be nice.”

Her head snapped up and her gaze collided with his. She realized he looked vaguely familiar as her breath caught and her mouth actually went dry at the sight of the most intense, vivid blue eyes she’d ever seen.

A crazy reaction, because Eden’s mouth never went dry over a man. Sure, she appreciated the opposite sex. She even enjoyed them on occasion—though the last being so long ago she could hardly remember. She liked men, all right, as everyone well knew. But she never, ever let any one man get to her.

Until this man.

She ignored the crazy thought and concentrated on finding her voice. “Pardon?”

His grin was slow and easy and as breath-stealing as the record-breaking hundred degree heat baking the surrounding stretch of pasture. “To put her out of her misery.” He motioned behind him. “The engine block is cracked and nothing short of a miracle is likely to revive her.”

She couldn’t help but return his smile. “Sorry, but I’m fresh out of miracles today.”

His grin faltered and something passed in his gaze. “Me, too. Thankfully.”

His last comment, coupled with the flash of relief in his blue eyes, made her think that Mr. Handsome, Sexy and Hot wasn’t all that disappointed to see his fifty-thousand-dollar car steaming in the midday heat.

The thought passed as he turned his attention back to her. A hungry light fired his gaze and her breath caught. It was a look she was all too familiar with since she’d given her virginity to Jake Marlboro back in high school. He’d violated her trust and turned what should have been something beautiful into a tawdry good time to brag about to his friends. Thus, her reputation had been born and she’d endured it ever since. The bold pick-up lines, the raunchy comments, the hungry looks.

But this was different. Her response was different. She didn’t just want to slap his face. She wanted to throw her arms around him and see if his lips felt as soft and mesmerizing as they looked.

“If you don’t mind, I could really use a ride.”

The last word lingered in her head and stirred a vivid image of him stretched out on her flower print sheets, his body dark and masculine and hard beneath her.

“But if it makes you uncomfortable, I could just walk.”

But that was the kicker. The notion of giving him a ride, in or out of bed, didn’t make her uncomfortable in the least.

Just hot.

“I’d be happy to help.” The words were out before she could consider that the man was a stranger, no matter how familiar he looked. He could be a serial killer for all she knew. A Porsche-driving, Gucci-wearing madman.

Then again, she’d been on blind dates that looked far more scary and intimidating. This guy was neither, and her gut told her he wasn’t dangerous either—except to her hormones. But she could maintain control of herself for the five minutes it would take to drive him to Merle’s Service Station. Eden Hallsey always kept her control. She was notorious for it. She was notorious for a lot of things.

“I really wouldn’t want to put you out,” he went on, mistaking her silence for hesitation.

“You’re not. You’re the one who’ll be inconvenienced. I’m afraid the closest gas station is about two miles straight into town.”

“It’s no inconvenience. That’s where I was headed.”

His words surprised her. She’d figured he’d pulled off the interstate near the town’s only exit out of pure necessity, not by choice. They didn’t see many of his type in a desperately small town like Cadillac. Not that the place didn’t have it’s share of wealth. Cadillac was home to two of the largest ranches in Texas, not to mention Weston Boots, the oldest and largest western boot manufacturer in the country. But the wealthy were still just locals. Country folk. Men like old Zachariah Weston and rancher Silver Dollar Sam—so named because of the silver dollars he handed out to the kiddies when he played Santa Claus at the yearly winter festival. While they might drive fancy utility vehicles and wear solid gold belt buckles, they still spent their Saturday nights having ice cream at the Dairy Freeze right alongside everybody else.

Her gaze shifted to the man standing outside her truck window, with his expensive Italian suit and his elite sports car. Again, a strange sense of familiarity hit her, as if she’d seen him in this exact pose before.

She shook away the crazy thought and reached over to unlock the opposite door. If she had come into contact with him before, she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting. He was too handsome, too sexy, too stirring.

Then again, maybe she was remembering. A memory from long ago. A man who’d been just a boy…

She searched her mind as he climbed in beside her. But then the door closed and his scent surrounded her, and her thoughts scattered. Her heart pounded and her stomach jumped and it was all she could do to concentrate on pulling away from the shoulder of the road, out onto the main strip leading into town.

“So,” she licked her lips and tried to calm her thundering heart, “are you visiting friends in town? Family?”

“Both.” He didn’t spare her a glance as he drank in the passing scenery, as if he were seeing pastureland and farmhouses for the very first time. “At least I hope so.”

“Have you ever been to Cadillac before?” she asked, eager to satisfy the curiosity bubbling inside her.

“Yes.” He didn’t offer any more information, telling Eden as plain as day, that he wasn’t as interested in getting to know her as she was in getting to know him, despite the openly hungry look he’d directed at her earlier.

It seemed that not only had her response to this man strayed from her usual indifference, he was acting different from most men. Any other man would have taken the opportunity to flirt and tease and even openly proposition her should they have found themselves alone with her in the close confines of her truck.

Not that Eden was some irresistible beauty queen. Far from it. It wasn’t her average looks that made her attractive to men. It was the rumors. She’d learned over the years that a woman with a reputation was like a plate of free cookies. Even if a person wasn’t hungry, they reached for a sweet just because it was there and it was free and everybody else was taking some.

It was a fact of life. Men flirted with her. All men. Her gaze snagged on the man seated next to her. The guy didn’t so much as spare her a glance. Okay, so make that most men.

Then again, if he wasn’t from around these parts he didn’t know her or her reputation. As far as he was concerned, she was just another woman.

Eden bit her bottom lip to keep from asking him more questions. He didn’t want to talk and she wasn’t going to make a pest of herself no matter how much she suddenly wanted to know everything about him, from his name to his likes and dislikes. Instead, she fixed her attention on trying to place him in her memory. He’d admitted that he’d been to Cadillac before. Maybe she had seen him. Eden was still searching her memory when they pulled into Merle’s Gas-n-Go.

“Thanks,” he said as he started to climb out, that same preoccupied look in his gaze that made Eden wonder yet again if she’d only imagined that initial hungry look he’d given her.

“Wait,” she said as he moved to close the door. “Don’t forget your duffel bag….” The words faded as she leaned over to grab his bag and her gaze snagged on the worn boots he was wearing—worn when the rest of him was polished to the max. The heel had the familiar trademark W branded into its side.

An image rushed at her of a blue-jean-clad senior with long legs and an easy smile. He’d worn a similar pair of boots as he’d stood on the side of the road next to his granddaddy’s pickup, one of the rear tires as flat as Jamie McGee’s hair after a good ironing.

Eden’s head snapped up and her eyes collided with his. “Brady Weston. You’re Brady Weston.” The Brady Weston. The boy who’d been every girl’s dream, Eden’s included.

His grin was as slow and as warm as she remembered on that hot July day when she’d given him her tire jack and a long swallow of her ice-cold Coke.

“The last time I looked.”

“It is you.” Her heart pumped ninety-to-nothing at the realization. “Y-you probably don’t recognize me. I’m—”

“Eden Hallsey,” he finished for her. “I’d know your smile anywhere. Thanks for saving me. Again.” Then, with a wink, he closed the door and Eden was left with the startling knowledge that after a bitter fight with his grandaddy and an eleven-year absence, Brady Weston—the captain of the hockey team, the heir to the Weston boot fortune and the star of Eden’s wildest adolescent fantasies—had finally come home.

HE WAS HOME.

Reality hit Brady as he stood before Merle’s gas station and stared at the fading red sign that hung in front. The same painted oval that had always teetered back and forth from two small chains. The edges were a little more worn than he remembered, the paint chipped in several spots, but otherwise it was exactly the same. The same name with the same familiar twenty-four hour service guarantee printed just below. A red-and-white T-ball banner flapped in the wind depicting one of the local teams in the peewee league. The same team—the Kansas City Royals—that Merle’s station sponsored each and every year.

Thankfully.

Brady had seen too many new barns, new fences, even a few new houses dotting the horizon on the drive into town and the scenery had made him worry that maybe things had changed too much for him to simply waltz back home after all these years and pick up where he’d left off.

And he wanted to. Christ, he wanted it more than his next breath of air.

He glanced behind him at the familiar span of buildings lining main street, from Turtle Jim’s Diner, where he’d eaten chili cheese fries after school every Friday afternoon, to Sullivan’s Pharmacy, where he’d purchased his very first condom. The breath he’d been holding eased from his lungs and he drank in another lungful of Texas heat.

Home.

He’d dreamt about this moment so many times over the past eleven years, when the stress of a fast-paced advertising career and a less than perfect home life had overwhelmed him and he’d longed for the peace he’d known while growing up. The freedom. The control.

He’d been the one in control back then. But for the past eleven years, life and circumstance and his ex-wife had called the shots, dictating the how, when and where.

Only because he’d allowed it, he reminded himself. It wasn’t as if he’d been forced away from Cadillac. He’d fallen in love, or so he’d thought at the time, and walked away by choice—to do the right thing. In the end, however, everything he’d done that fateful day and every moment since had been wrong. So wrong.

Not now. Not ever again.

The past was just that—the past. Over. Finished. Bye, bye. It was the future that mattered now, and Brady wasn’t making any more mistakes. Rather, he was finally going to set things right.

He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and spared a glance around him. A handful of kids were gathered around a nearby candy machine at the far corner of the building. Brady turned, letting his gaze sweep the other side. The gleam of an old-fashioned Coke machine caught his eye and he smiled. Yep, Cadillac was still good old Cadillac.

Sliding a coin into the slot, he pushed the same button he’d pushed every day after school since the moment he’d been tall enough to swipe quarters from the top of his older sister’s dresser once she’d left for school in the morning.

The machine grumbled, then stalled the way it always had for several long moments before finally spitting out a bottle of Orange Crush. He popped the tab and lifted the opening to his lips. Anticipation rolled through him, thirst coiled in his stomach—familiar feelings that he’d felt every time he’d stood in this very same spot with his favorite drink.

Yet, at the same time, he felt different. Hotter. More anxious. Downright needy.

Thanks to Eden Hallsey.

He took a long swig of soda, but it did little to ease his body temperature which had soared the moment she’d pulled up in her beat-up Chevy to rescue him from his own stupidity.

At first, he’d been convinced she was a mirage. He’d been stranded on the highway just miles from his home-town. It only made sense that he would conjure the sexiest girl from his past.

But then she’d touched him, just a soft gesture on his hand, and every nerve in his body had jumped to awareness. In a matter of seconds, he’d been as hard as an iron spike.

He’d reacted the same way on their one and only date. That had been before Sally, or rather, before his head had lost the battle with his hormones, he’d fancied himself in love and had forgotten to wear a condom on one of their dates. She’d gotten pregnant and they’d gotten married, and his dating days had been over. She’d lost the baby shortly after, but it was too late. He’d taken sacred vows, and he had loved her, or so he’d thought at the time, and she’d claimed to love him. He’d believed her, up until six months ago when she’d run off with one of his business associates.

So much for love.

But before…

There’d been Eden Hallsey. From tenth grade on, she’d been the prettiest and sexiest girl around and the fantasy of every boy at Cadillac, Brady included. He’d heard every rumor about her, and while he didn’t believe them all—he’d known her before tenth grade—when she’d been shy and naïve and a nice girl—he knew there was at least a kernel of truth. She was sexy.

And he’d wanted her.

The date had been nothing more than tradition. He’d been the star prize in the yearly football lottery, where girls bought tickets for a chance to win a date with their favorite jock. He’d been surprised to see her raise her hand when the number had been called. After all, Eden hadn’t needed to buy a ticket to get a date. She could have any guy. But she’d bought a ticket for him. For a few seconds, he’d been excited until a friend had alerted him to the fact that she was making her way through the football team and he was the last on her list. Just another conquest.

Oddly enough, he hadn’t wanted to be another in a long line. He’d wanted to be different. To stand out, and so he’d done what no other guy had ever been able to do—he’d kept his distance. Barely.

That had been a long time ago. His hormones had never been more out of control than at this time, or so he’d thought until he’d climbed into the cab beside her today. He might as well have been sixteen again, with raging needs and a permanent hard-on. The reaction was the same. Fierce. Immediate.

Thankfully, that reaction had jolted some common sense into him. He’d let his passion get him into trouble before. He’d lost everything because of one night and it wasn’t happening again just because Eden was every bit as luscious as he remembered. He wouldn’t screw things up again before he’d even had the chance to set them right.

A chance. That’s why Brady was back in Cadillac. He wanted a chance to reclaim his old life. A chance to make amends for mistaking lust for love and beg his grandfather’s forgiveness for forsaking his family for a girl who’d never really loved him.

Not that love had been the sole deciding factor that had figured into his decision to forfeit an all expense paid education at Texas A & M for two jobs and community college in Dallas. Duty had been a part of his decision as well. And responsibility. And commitment. They were the reasons Brady had left.

The reasons he’d finally come back.

“Say there, son. Can I help…” The words trailed off as astonishment lit the old man’s face as he walked around the corner of the building. He wore faded jean overalls and a worn Kansas City Royals T-shirt beneath it. Salt-and-pepper hair framed a wrinkled face, and a matching mustache twitched on his upper lip. “Why, I declare. Brady Zachariah Weston! Is that you, you ole sonofagun?”

“It’s me, all right.” He took the older man’s hand for a hearty shake. “It’s good to see you, Unc.”

Merle Weston was Brady’s great uncle, his grandfather’s little brother, and the classic black sheep of the Weston clan. For as long as Brady could remember, Merle had been the outsider. He’d declined any part of the Weston boot business and opened up his own gas station some thirty-odd years ago, despite his older brother’s fierce objections. After all, Weston Boots was a family affair and Zachariah Weston didn’t take too kindly to his kin going against family tradition.

Brady knew that firsthand.

Merle had never seemed to care, however. If anything, he’d gone out of his way just to stay at odds with his older brother. He’d traded the family business and fortune for his own service station that barely made ends meet.

He’d married the wrong woman, at least according to his older brother whose definition of right involved money—lots of money. And he’d moved clear across town, away from the family ranch that still housed three generations of Westons.

The older man scratched the side of his head with a faded, rolled-up issue of Popular Mechanics. “Why, I was wonderin’ when you’d finally make it back—hey, there!” His attention shifted to the kids poking around the candy machine. “You young’uns either put some change in or skeedadle, otherwise I’ll take a hickory switch to every single one of you!” He turned back to Brady and his face split into a grin. “You’re lookin’ awful good, son. A little slick,” he said, his gaze sweeping Brady from head to toe as he let out a low whistle. “Awful fancy threads you got there.”

“One of the hazards of working in Dallas. I see you’re still too cheap to spring for a current edition of Popular Mechanics.” He indicated the rolled-up magazine.

“The back issues I get from the beauty parlor every six months when Eula cleans off her coffee table are plenty good enough for me.” He winked. “What can I say? The price is right.”

“There is no price.”

“That’s why it’s so right. I ain’t made of money like some folks around here.” He winked. “Speaking of which, I heard you’re headin’ up one of them highfalutin ad agencies out there.”

“Was. I’m through doing the corporate thing. I want to slow down. Speaking of which, my car quit on me out on the highway. You think you could dig up a wrecker and give me a tow?”

“Sure thing. What kind of car?”

“Black.”

“I’m talking make and model.”

Brady drew in a deep breath. “A Porsche 366.”

Merle let loose another whistle. “Slick car to go with the duds.”

“Not for long. These clothes are a mite too hot for me. I’m thinking of changing before I head over to Granddaddy’s place.”

“You sure as hell better. He’s still a little attached to his Wranglers, and anybody who ain’t wearin’ them amounts to an outsider.”

“I’ve got a pair in my suitcase.” Several pairs to be more exact. While Brady had left straight from his office and hadn’t taken the time to change, he had come as prepared as possible to face his grandfather after all these years.

“Since my car’s out of commission, you have any loaners you can spare?”

“All’s I got is ole Bessie out back.”

“You mean she actually still runs?” Brady remembered the old Chevy pickup being on its last legs back when he was in high school.

“On occasion. She’s pretty reliable, so long as you stroke the console ‘afore you start her.”

“Will do.”

“I don’t think your grandfather will take too kindly to you driving up in Bessie.”

True enough, but Zachariah would like it even less seeing his only grandson drive up in a fancy car the likes of which no salt-of-the-earth cowboy would be caught dead in.

“A truck’s a truck. So,” Brady went on, eager to change the subject, “you’re looking really good. Still sponsoring the same T-ball team and wearing the same shirt.”

“It ain’t the same. They give me a new one every year. One of the perks. As a matter of fact, I made ‘em give me two shirts this past year ‘cause I hit my twenty-year mark.”

Brady grinned. “Still spittin’ vinegar, I see.”

Merle winked before casting a glance at the kids and giving them a look that sent them running. “And pissin’ fire,” he added, turning back to Brady. “Thanks to Maria’s cookin’.”

“She still make the best tamales this side of the Rio Grande?”

“And the best dadburned enchiladas. I keep tellin’ her she ought to put all that good cookin’ to use and open up a restaurant. Then I could retire and let Marlboro have this old place.”

“Jake Marlboro?”

He nodded. “He’s been itchin’ to buy me out all year. Already talked Cecil over at McIntyre Hardware into selling his place.”

“Why would he want the old hardware store?”

“He’s fixing on putting in a Mega Mart. It’s got everything from hardware to groceries. Opened one up over in Inspiration and it’s a big hit. Folks like the convenience, I guess. Me, I’m just a little attached to this place. Not to mention, I ain’t sold Maria on the restaurant idea. She says she’s too busy with all the young’uns.”

“How many are you up to?”

“Out of seven grandkids, we’ve got nineteen great-grandbabies, and number twenty’s due any day now.” A smile creased his old face. “Your gramps is pickle green with envy.”

“And you’re loving every minute of it.”

Merle’s grin widened. “I never had too many chances to one-up your old grandpa when we were growing up, and I ain’t ashamed to admit that it’s a mite satisfying to know there’s something the old coot wants that he cain’t have.” At Brady’s smile, Merle shrugged. “What can I say? Things ain’t changed much in the past eleven years.”

Brady sent up a silent prayer. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

2

“BRADY’S HOME!” The shout preceded the frantic embrace of Brady’s youngest sister. Before he could so much as get in a hello, she opened the front door, threw herself into his arms and held on for dear life.

For the next few moments, Brady forgot his doubts and simply relished the feeling. It had been a long time since he’d been hugged so fiercely…since he’d wanted to hug so fiercely.

“You’re here,” his sister murmured into his shoulder. “You’re really here.” Another quick squeeze and she pulled back enough to give him a scolding look. “It’s about damned time.”

“Ellie Jane Weston.” The admonishment came from a tall, slender, sixtyish woman with silvery hair and stern blue eyes who appeared in the entryway behind Ellie. “You watch your language.”

“Sorry, Ma. Brady’s home,” Ellie announced to the woman.

“I heard. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised 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 night after one of his high school hockey games.

And he’d always reacted the same. He’d simply stood his ground and waited for the criticism to come, praying for the approval. More often than not he’d received the first, 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 few more times before a thoughtful look crept over his expression. “I could use an extra pair of hands down at the factory. Not for some frou-frou position, mind you.” He motioned to Brady’s silk shirt. “I’ve got Ellie running the office and she doesn’t need a bit of help. She’s a whiz with numbers and loves every minute.”

“I’m not an accountant,” Brady told his grandfather, who didn’t so much as spare him a glance. “I’m an ad man.” Was an ad man.

“Tell him I ain’t got room for one of those either.”

“Good.” Brady spoke up before his mother could open her mouth. “Because that’s not the type of position I’m interested in.”

“It takes focus, not to mention he’s liable to get his hands dirty,” Granddaddy warned.

“Just the way I like them.”

“We’ll see,” Zachariah said as he puffed on his pipe and gave his only grandson one long, slow look. “We surely will.”

“THIS IS BULLSHIT,” Ellie declared later that afternoon as she pulled her Jeep Wrangler into the parking lot and braked to a halt. “You should be in charge of operations instead of hammering soles onto a bunch of cowboy boots. Hammering, of all things. I can’t believe he’s starting you out at the bottom. You might as well be just another—”

“—guy off the street,” he finished for her. “Right now, I am. He doesn’t trust me and I can’t say as I blame him.”

“What?”

“I betrayed him.”

“You stood up to him. There’s a big difference.”

“Not to him, and until I prove myself again, then this is the way it’s going to be. Lots of hammering and lots of silence.”

“And that’s another thing. Have you ever seen anything so juvenile as him talking to you through other people? He’s crazy. That’s all I have to say. And mean. And I have every intention of telling him so. Not that he’ll listen to me either, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

“Let it go, Ellie. If putting me through my paces and giving me the silent treatment will make him feel better, then that’s what I’ll let him do.”

“You’ve got a college degree, for Pete’s sake.”

“And he’s got a lot of resentment towards me. He needs to vent.”

“So you’re going to be his whipping boy until he comes to his senses, is that it?”

“I’ll do what I have to do. I knew what I was facing when I left Dallas.” And he’d been eager to get back anyway. To escape the daily grind and put the past eleven years behind him.

“But it’s still not right,” she persisted. “You shouldn’t be doing something you hate. No one should.” A faraway look crossed her eyes and Brady had the distinct impression that she’d died her hair green, then purple, not to make a fashion statement, but to make a personal one. Namely that she wasn’t as happy hiding behind those ledger books as his grandfather apparently thought.

“Maybe not.” But it felt right. Brady had worked in the hammering department as a teenager and he knew the work. What’s more, he liked it. The heavy weight of the hammer in his hands and the scent of leather in his nostrils. “Trust me, I’m looking forward to every minute. You don’t know how much I missed this place.” He stared through the windshield at the large brown building that sat on the far edge of the Weston Ranch.

Once a barn, the structure had been expanded throughout the years and bricked over to accommodate the growing boot company. A small gravel parking lot sat to the right of the building. Brady trained his eyes on the patch of trees just beyond and glimpsed a large corral in the distance. He didn’t need a closer look to know that the place stood empty. Gone were the animals that had once put muscle behind the large machinery used in the leather process when Brady had been a small boy. He’d been barely four when his grandfather had converted to the much cheaper and more convenient electricity. The massive tanning machines operated at the flick of a switch. Ovens that had once been fired up every morning by hand now had temperature knobs.

His grandfather had been determined to keep Weston Boots competitive in the ever-changing market place. Factories pumped out more and more and so the man had been hellbent on doing what he could to compete. And he’d succeeded. Somewhat.

The company was holding its own, but it wasn’t moving. Ellie’s books had indicated a steady profit over the past six years and while the numbers weren’t dropping, they weren’t increasing to represent the changing economy. The company needed a boost. He pushed the thought aside, however appealing. He wasn’t an ad man. He made cowboy boots. End of story.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Ellie’s voice pushed past his thoughts and drew his full attention. “I’m glad you’re home. Damned glad. But after living in Dallas all these years, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you go stir crazy over the next few days. This place is hardly the Exxon Towers.”

“No,” he agreed, “it’s not even close.” Which was the point exactly. The fading structure was completely opposite from the sixteen stories of steel and concrete he’d grown accustomed to. “Accustomed,” as in tolerant. But he’d never developed a true liking for the skyscraper, much less the surrounding big city.

This he liked. The smell of grass. The sight of trees. The feel of the sun beating down on him, making sweat run in trickles from beneath the brim of his faded Resistol.

A smile tilted his lips as he climbed from the passenger seat and followed his sister toward the building. Familiarity rushed through him as he touched the rusted wagon wheel that hung on the front door of the building—the same wheel that had been hanging on the door since Weston Boots first opened back in the late 1800s.

“I keep telling Granddaddy to get rid of that,” Ellie said as she came up behind him. “But you know better than anyone how stubborn he can be.” She drew in a deep breath. “We’re running with a skeleton crew since it’s Saturday—Granddaddy’s only day off—so you’re not likely to get the real feel until the place is packed and all departments are up and operational. That’ll be first thing Monday.”

“That’s okay. It’ll give me a chance to get the feel of things again without worrying about slowing down production.” He pushed open the door for his sister, then followed her inside.

“No problem, but do it fast because I’ve got a surprise planned for later.”

“What surprise?”

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?” She smiled as if she held a big secret. “Let’s just say, it’s not every day the prodigal brother comes home. The occasion definitely calls for a celebration.”

“As in a party?”

Excitement lit her eyes as she nodded. “As in an intimate party with the old gang.”

He returned his sister’s smile. “You never could keep a secret.”

“How could I when you practically stuffed haystack needles under my fingernails to get me to talk?”

He grinned and let the door rock shut. Nostalgia rushed through him, along with a sense of peace and he simply stood there in the doorway, absorbing the sight and sound and smell of the place.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie asked, her brow wrinkling as she studied him.

“Nothing,” he said, sliding his arm around her as he guided her inside. “Everything’s right. For the first time in a long time, everything’s right.”

“I’M AFRAID I’VE GOT bad news and good news,” Merle, still clad in overalls and T-shirt, told him after Ellie dropped him off at the service station to check on his car later that afternoon.

“Give me the bad news first.”

“I cain’t exactly do that. It really is bad news and good news all rolled into one. See, Janie Gingrich—she’s the lady that used to rent the room above the garage before she married Trent Mulberry—had this nasty crow that got loose and took up residence in the tree just in back of the shop.”

“Is this the good news or the bad news?”

“Both, I told you. Bad news because the critter’s been living in the tree behind the shop. Only comes out when he hears my wrecker pull up. Came squawking by when I pulled in with your sports car and pooped all over the hood. I shooed her away.” He waved his rolled-up issue of Popular Mechanics. “But it was too late. She scratched the paint before I knew what had happened.”

“And that’s good news, too?”

“Sure enough. I’ll have to wait until Monday to get the paint from Austin, but good because I’d have to have the car until then anyway so’s I can take a look at that cracked engine block and look for any permanent damage. I know, I know,” Merle said when Brady started to talk, “it’s not in keeping with my twenty-four-hour guarantee, but this being Saturday and all and Sunday not counting, it’s technically only twenty-four work hours.” He eyed his nephew. “You’re not mad about the poop, are you?”

“Not if you’ve still got that room above the garage.”

Merle grinned and fished in his pocket. “It’s yours,” he declared as he handed over a slightly bent key. “It ain’t much, just a one-room with a kitchen, but it’s clean. Maria sees to that.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Brady took the key and retrieved his bag from the backseat of his Porsche.

“Mighty pretty car,” Merle said as he trailed his hand along the door. “Minus the poop, of course.”

“Yeah, it is nice.” Nice was an understatement. It was the best, like everything else in his life. Sally never would have settled for less. Even when they’d been dead broke, she would spend the last dollar to buy one gourmet cookie that lasted all of a few bites, rather than a loaf of bread to last them all week.

The dollar days had passed and he’d gone on to bring home more money, which she’d promptly spent. Always buying the best, from clothes to cars to fifty-dollar decorative handsoaps that he hadn’t been allowed to use. They’d been for show like everything else in her life. Status had meant everything, and so she’d moved on when someone with more status had come along.

Thankfully, she’d finally done what he couldn’t because of his damned conscience. She’d ended their marriage. Cut him loose. Sent him on his way so she could climb higher on the social ladder.

Or was that why she’d left?

I need a real man who can satisfy me.

He pushed aside the words as he headed up the stairs to the one-room efficiency. He wasn’t dwelling on the past. He was living for the moment. For right now. And right now involved taking a shower so he could meet his younger sister and the rest of his old buddies for a much-needed drink.

“Look out, Cadillac. Here I come.”

3

“I NEED a screaming orgasm in the worst way.”

“You and me both,” Eden told the woman who plopped down at the bar later that evening, a near empty glass in hand.

Dottie Abernathy was a regular Saturday-afternoon customer and one of the few who didn’t give a fig about Eden’s reputation.

Then again, Dottie had had her own reputation to contend with before she’d married the local fire chief and made a respectable woman of herself. Bib boobs—and Dottie had been blessed with two Double D’s—equaled an even bigger reputation, and so the woman understood what Eden had had to endure. She was in her late forties with graying red hair and a die-hard makeup habit that made the town’s only Avon lady the number-one-ranked salesperson in Texas. Dottie had a few too many gray hairs and her crow’s feet were deepening, but in her prime she’d stirred her fair share of gossip.

“I know why I need one,” Dottie said, taking the very last sip of her drink. The woman was referring to the outrageously named beverage, while Eden had an entirely different orgasm on her mind. “James is at home planted in front of the TV and I’m here alone. But what’s your excuse?”

Withdrawal. That’s what had stirred Eden’s hormones into a frenzy the moment she’d spotted Brady Weston. Sure, he was handsome and sexy, but he was still just a man. A walking Y chromosome. Nothing to get all excited about, unless the woman getting excited had been so busy the past six months working and worrying over the future and Jake Marlboro and what new stunt the slimeball was going to come up with to screw up her business that she’d completely neglected her personal life.

No wonder she’d been hot and bothered since walking into the Pink Cadillac after dropping Brady off at Merle’s. She was deprived. Desperate. Due.

Yep, she was definitely due for a good, quality orgasm.

Not that she’d ever had anything close to a screaming one. Sure, she’d whimpered. She’d sighed. She’d even moaned a time or two. But no man had ever made her scream. Despite the rumors circulating around the small town.

Rumors. That summed up Eden’s life to a T, at least from the tenth grade up. She was one great big rumor. Her past. Her present. Her future.

Rumor had it that she’d slept with the entire football team her sophomore year, and that she was presently sleeping with every elk over at the ledge, including Homer Jackson who, everyone in their right mind knew, preferred bulls to heifers any old day. As for the future? She would probably sleep her way through the city council, or maybe boff every police officer on the ten-man force.

Rumor. That’s all it was, with the exception of one really cute elk Eden had met last New Year’s Eve at the annual holiday party. They’d dated a few times and slept together once, and that had been the end of it. He’d been a horse trainer for one of the nearby ranches, and once breaking season had ended, he’d left for New Mexico and another ranch.

She’d moaned with him. Not so much because the sex had been great. Looking back, she could objectively qualify it as so-so. But she’d been coming off a long dry spell after her last fling nearly four years ago at a bartending convention in Austin, and even so-so had been an occasion for moaning.

But a bonafide scream? Not this girl. Not with any of the handful of men she’d actually slept with, much less the hundreds that filled her make-believe résumé since Jake Marlboro had lied about her and made her the scarlet woman of Cadillac, Texas.

“Eden?” Dottie waved her empty glass. “Are you still with me?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I guess I zoned out for a little while. It’s been so hot out.” She turned and twisted the air-conditioning knob a few notches cooler.

“You’re telling me. Hit me again.”

Eden had nothing against a woman quenching her thirst, but she wasn’t in the habit of contributing to the delinquency of friends. Particularly when she sensed an underlying motivation propelling Dottie toward a second drink.

“Haven’t you reached your one orgasm limit?”

Dottie Abernathy let out a pitiful sigh. “Usually, but I’m feeling very neglected today.” She stared down at her empty glass. “Not that I really need the calories. Jerry’s sure to run the other way if I pack on a beer belly.”

Eden winked. “That’s a screaming orgasm belly, and I can’t imagine Jerry doing such a thing. He loves you.”

“He loves me from February through July. It’s August.” At Eden’s blank look, she added, “Preseason. I’ve dropped to number two on his priority list.” She sighed. “At least it’s not number three. I don’t drop that far until October when deer season opens. Right now, I’m going head-to-head with the Dallas Cowboys.” She eyes the bowl of honey-roasted cashews sitting on the counter behind Eden. “What about those? Those are healthier than an orgasm, right?”

“Definitely the good kind of fat,” Eden told her as she grabbed the bowl and placed it in front of Dottie. “And I won’t have to drive you home.”

“Men,” Dottie said around a mouthful of nuts. “I’ll never understand them.”

“Amen.” Eden popped a cashew into her own mouth. She’d tried understanding them. When Jake Marlboro had taken the treasured gift of her virginity and turned it into a sleazy strip show, she’d tried to see the entire event through his eyes. Had she done something to make him think she was sleezy? Had she come on too strong? Too soon? Had she been deserving of his nasty rumors?

Hell, no. That’s what she’d finally decided, after a lot of soul searching and years of heartache. The fine, up-standing citizens of Cadillac could see what they wanted to see—namely that Jake was a wealthy, enterprising member of the community and she was little better than a cow pattie stuck to the bottom of his boot.

As if she cared.

She’d stopped caring a long time ago about other people’s perceptions—make that misperceptions—when she’d finally come to terms with the fact that her first true love was nothing more than a lying, conceited, egotistical jerk.

Then and now.

Her gaze swept the nearly empty bar. Empty when she’d always been packed at this time of afternoon. Even Mitchell Wineberg who gathered with his cronies for Saturday-afternoon dominoes wasn’t in his usual corner. He was over at the VFW, thanks to Jake who’d donated a twenty-seven-inch color TV to the rec room that put her small nineteen-inch black-and-white to shame. Who wanted to watch Pat Sajak and Vanna White in black and white when they could see that wheel spin in vivid technicolor? Not a one of them would give the Pink Cadillac a second glance thanks to Jake’s latest contribution. If Eden wouldn’t sell out, Jake would force her out by making the Pink Cadillac obsolete when it came to fun and entertainment.

Or so he thought.

She wasn’t going down without a fight. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but it would be something foolproof. She wasn’t selling the Pink Cadillac, no matter how much money he offered her.

Eden told herself that for the umpteenth time and turned her attention to Dottie and the bowl of cashews.

“…the Cowboys, of all teams,” the woman was saying. “I could understand if he had me going head-to-head with the Packers. Now there’s a decent football team. And cute. Why, they drafted a wide receiver with muscles out to here and a butt that begs to be pinched.”

Dottie’s comments stirred a vision of another very pinchable butt and Eden’s attention shifted back to Brady and the picture he’d made standing on the side of the road, looking so hot and sweaty and sexy and…hot.

A twinge of longing shot through Eden and she reached for a handful of cashews.

Wait a second. Longing?

No way. Not when it came to a man. If she’d learned anything in her lifetime it was that men were a dime a dozen. Sure, there were those few good ones. Her father and Reverend Talbot and old Mr. Murphy over at the grocery store who climbed his apple tree out back every afternoon so his ailing wife could have fresh fruit with her lunch. Eden wasn’t so jaded that she’d stopped believing in Mr. Right. He just wasn’t lurking anywhere in Cadillac or the surrounding six counties. But someday…

She dismissed the thought. Eden wasn’t the type to sit around dreaming about the future. She made the best of the present and the matter at hand—which, right now, was her business—and the only thing she longed for was a rush of customers. That would show Jake Marlboro that he couldn’t win at everything. While he’d certainly gotten the best of her once, it wasn’t going to happen again.

“These days, the Cowboys ain’t worth the price of a hot dog at Texas stadium. But way back when they could make me sit up and take notice. Why, I remember when Jimmy Johnson was running the team…” Dottie droned on about the good old days and the nostalgia of the past as Eden poured herself a soda.

Nostalgia. That explained her reaction to Brady Weston. It wasn’t so much that she was attracted to him now. No, she was remembering her attraction to him then.

The daydreams… All those times she’d sat in the bleachers and watched Brady throw a winning pass and fancied herself the head cheerleader and the object of his sexy all-star smile.

The fantasies… When she’d lounged on the bank of McKinney’s Lake and watched Brady swing out over the lake in his best Tarzan imitation with the rest of his buddies. The rich kids. The haves. While Eden had sat on the opposite side with the have-nots, and pretended she was his Jane.

The reality… That one hot summer day when he’d had a flat and she’d given him a lift. In the close confines of her dad’s beat-up pickup truck, with Brady so close and the heat so overwhelming, she’d come so close to living up to her reputation, sliding across the seat and kissing the devil out of Brady.

She’d wanted to, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. The feeling had been just as strong when they’d been on their “date.” Throughout the night, Eden had wished he would ask her out for real. And she’d also wished he wouldn’t be such a gentleman.

But that was in the past. Fond memories. A young girl’s crazy infatuation with the sexiest boy in high school. Those days were over and she was all grown up now, and she didn’t salivate over any man, no matter how handsome.

Besides, he wasn’t that good-looking. Gone was the clean-cut, freshly shaven golden boy who’d taken the Cadillac Texans to the state football championship not once, but twice. The years had added a hardness to his once soft brown eyes. He was older now, with tiny lines rimming his eyes and a roughness about him that came with years of hard living.

Not her type at all. Eden preferred pretty-boy Ricky Martin to the Marlboro man any day. Brady Weston was a little too different from the All-American who’d dominated her adolescent fantasies. He was too masculine, too sexy, and he was here—

Her thoughts slammed to a halt as she straightened and focused on him standing in the doorway. His gaze collided with hers and he smiled, and for five full seconds Eden actually forgot to breathe.

“Hey, Eden!” The greeting came from Brady’s sister Ellie, who came up next to him. The woman waved and steered her brother into a nearby booth.

Eden had barely forced a calm breath, much less responded when the door swung open again. A group of men and women walked in and made a bee-line for Brady and his sister.

The past pulled her back as she remembered all the lunches spent staring across the school cafeteria. She’d sat with her friends while Brady had held court amid the A-crowd in the center of the lunchroom.

There were several beer bellies now and a few pairs of fake breasts, but otherwise the group could have been plucked from the yearbook pages as they smiled and laughed and piled into several booths surrounding Brady and his sister.

“Looks like tonight’s going to be busy,” Dottie said, drawing Eden away from her musings and back to the fact of the matter—she had customers.

Her gaze shifted to Brady, to his sexy smile and the handsome picture he made sitting there in a straw Resistol, faded jeans and a white T-shirt. Gone were the designer clothes and the preoccupied look from this afternoon. He’d transformed back into the good-natured, relaxed cowboy who’d smiled at her from the side of the road that day so long ago. The same cowboy she’d stared at day after day in her English class.

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