right?"
"I wouldn't know about that. All I know is I'm using prime lean beef from this ranch and fresh, homegrown vegetables I picked out of the garden just yesterday. We've got some fine sourdough biscuits and a few fried Idaho taters and onions. You know yore granddad's got to have his fried taters and onions."
"I know," Jude said with a grin. Grandpa ate fried potatoes and onions with every meal. An old friend in Idaho shipped him the fresh-from-the-field vegetables. Jude often teased him, telling him those two items in his diet were responsible for his long healthy life, which was a fact as much as a joke.
Jude had had something on her mind all week that she wanted to discuss with her father. "Is Daddy here?" she asked Windy.
Both his hands were busy, so Windy's head tilted toward the dining room. "He went off to fix hisself a little toddy."
Daddy's custom was to retire to his study up the hall from the dining room for a drink before supper. Jude left the kitchen and made her way there. She tapped on the deep brown oak door and at the same time stepped inside the room onto rust-colored Mexican tile softened with cowhides. Heads and horns from game animals, most of them bagged on the ranch, looked down from the walls.
The office had a compact bar and sure enough, she found her father standing at it. Wearing clean Wranglers and a fresh short-sleeve snap-button shirt, he had cleaned up for supper. From his appearance, unless someone noticed the custom-made boots he wore, no one would ever guess his financial worth.
Jude had always thought him handsome. He was a tall and sturdy man whose body, as a result of a lifetime of physical work, belied his age. His face, on the other hand, was overtanned to a permanent russet brown and deeply creased around the eyes from spending every day in the Texas sun. But his forehead, constantly shaded by his hat, was pale white. His hair, once a reddish brown like hers, was now white, but it was still thick. He kept it cut short.
Jude had wondered often whether he was lonely. She had never known of him having a female companion except for a couple of local "friends." Occasionally he invited one of them out to dinner or to some function, but as far as Jude knew, that was the extent of his romantic life.
The scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air and she saw a stub in his left hand. His head turned her way and he smiled. "Hi, punkin. Just having a little drink before supper. Want something?"
Mentally, Jude clenched her teeth . She hated that childhood pet name. Long ago she had given up asking him not to use it. The habit was too ingrained.
She walked over to the bar that hid behind slatted bifold doors when not in use. A hint of Aramis, the cologne she had always associated with her father, commingled with the fruity aroma of his cigar.
"Sure ,” she said. “But be sure to fix mine with lots of water."
He chuckled and dropped ice cubes into a second tumbler. They clinked softly in the heavy crystal. He poured a generous portion of Crown Royal into each glass, then added ice water to hers from a stainless-steel pitcher. "Haven't seen you since this morning, sugar. Whatcha been doing?"
"Oh, this and that."
He handed her the glass of whiskey. She carried it to a large leather wing chair in front of his desk and tested a baby sip, shuddering as the alcohol burned her throat and hit her empty stomach. A whiskey guzzler she was not and never had been, even in college.
Sitting in the wingback chair put her at eye level with the credenza behind her father's desk. There, among photographs of sleek horses and massive Hereford bulls in their curly-faced maleness, was an assortment of photographs of Jude at various stages in her life. Tucked among them and partially hidden was one from eleven years ago of her and Webb Henderson at an A&M /UT football game. Webb was a graduate of the University of Texas law school. Daddy and Grandpa had viewed him as excellent husband material. Proof of
"I wouldn't know about that. All I know is I'm using prime lean beef from this ranch and fresh, homegrown vegetables I picked out of the garden just yesterday. We've got some fine sourdough biscuits and a few fried Idaho taters and onions. You know yore granddad's got to have his fried taters and onions."
"I know," Jude said with a grin. Grandpa ate fried potatoes and onions with every meal. An old friend in Idaho shipped him the fresh-from-the-field vegetables. Jude often teased him, telling him those two items in his diet were responsible for his long healthy life, which was a fact as much as a joke.
Jude had had something on her mind all week that she wanted to discuss with her father. "Is Daddy here?" she asked Windy.
Both his hands were busy, so Windy's head tilted toward the dining room. "He went off to fix hisself a little toddy."
Daddy's custom was to retire to his study up the hall from the dining room for a drink before supper. Jude left the kitchen and made her way there. She tapped on the deep brown oak door and at the same time stepped inside the room onto rust-colored Mexican tile softened with cowhides. Heads and horns from game animals, most of them bagged on the ranch, looked down from the walls.
The office had a compact bar and sure enough, she found her father standing at it. Wearing clean Wranglers and a fresh short-sleeve snap-button shirt, he had cleaned up for supper. From his appearance, unless someone noticed the custom-made boots he wore, no one would ever guess his financial worth.
Jude had always thought him handsome. He was a tall and sturdy man whose body, as a result of a lifetime of physical work, belied his age. His face, on the other hand, was overtanned to a permanent russet brown and deeply creased around the eyes from spending every day in the Texas sun. But his forehead, constantly shaded by his hat, was pale white. His hair, once a reddish brown like hers, was now white, but it was still thick. He kept it cut short.
Jude had wondered often whether he was lonely. She had never known of him having a female companion except for a couple of local "friends." Occasionally he invited one of them out to dinner or to some function, but as far as Jude knew, that was the extent of his romantic life.
The scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air and she saw a stub in his left hand. His head turned her way and he smiled. "Hi, punkin. Just having a little drink before supper. Want something?"
Mentally, Jude clenched her teeth . She hated that childhood pet name. Long ago she had given up asking him not to use it. The habit was too ingrained.
She walked over to the bar that hid behind slatted bifold doors when not in use. A hint of Aramis, the cologne she had always associated with her father, commingled with the fruity aroma of his cigar.
"Sure ,” she said. “But be sure to fix mine with lots of water."
He chuckled and dropped ice cubes into a second tumbler. They clinked softly in the heavy crystal. He poured a generous portion of Crown Royal into each glass, then added ice water to hers from a stainless-steel pitcher. "Haven't seen you since this morning, sugar. Whatcha been doing?"
"Oh, this and that."
He handed her the glass of whiskey. She carried it to a large leather wing chair in front of his desk and tested a baby sip, shuddering as the alcohol burned her throat and hit her empty stomach. A whiskey guzzler she was not and never had been, even in college.
Sitting in the wingback chair put her at eye level with the credenza behind her father's desk. There, among photographs of sleek horses and massive Hereford bulls in their curly-faced maleness, was an assortment of photographs of Jude at various stages in her life. Tucked among them and partially hidden was one from eleven years ago of her and Webb Henderson at an A&M /UT football game. Webb was a graduate of the University of Texas law school. Daddy and Grandpa had viewed him as excellent husband material. Proof of
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