Butch?” she wailed.
“Listen, he loves you. He’s not going to say anything,” the cook said.
“Absolutely,” the waitress agreed.
The owner just smiled gently.
* * *
Butch was full of news when he came in to sit at his normal booth right near the door of the restaurant.
“I’m getting a raise,” he said. “And just in time! Now we can go shopping for baby furniture . . . what’s wrong, honey?” he asked abruptly, because she looked forlorn.
She moved closer, with her pad out, but nobody was close enough to hear. “My grandfather’s in town.”
“He is?” Butch smiled. “So you do have a little family left, don’t you, honey girl?” He caught her other hand and squeezed it gently. His dark eyes were bright with joy. “He’ll be our baby’s great-grandfather. Did you tell him?”
She nodded.
“Is he nice? Do you like him?”
She took a deep breath. “About that . . .”
“Well, would you look at that?” one of the cowboys remarked loudly as a big black limousine pulled up at the curb. “Must be some rock star in town to film a video. Or maybe a Mafia don.” He chuckled.
Esther ground her teeth together.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Butch asked, worried when he saw her expression. He looked toward the door, where a tall, silver-haired gentleman walking with a cane came into the restaurant, looked at Esther, and smiled as he approached them.
“Esther, who is that?” Butch whispered.
She drew in a deep breath as the old man joined them. “Butch, this is my grandfather, Blalock Cranston. Grandad, this is my husband, Butch Matthews.”
Then she waited for the explosion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
To say that Butch was dumbfounded was an understatement. It didn’t take psychic abilities to figure out that the man who’d climbed out of the stretch limo was loaded. The fancy suit, silk shirt, expensive shoes said it all.
Butch looked blankly at his wife.
“So you’re my new grandson-in-law,” the old man said, smiling as he held out a hand that Butch shook. “Glad to meet you. Very glad. And I hear I’m to be a great-grandfather! Congratulations!”
Butch shifted his shocked eyes to Esther’s taut face and moved them back to the old man’s. He felt as if he’d been clubbed. “Sure. Nice to meet you, too. Won’t you sit down?” he asked, remembering his manners.
“Thanks.” The old man grimaced, leaning the cane in the booth beside him as he sat. “Damned leg still gives me fits. I got caught by one of those miserable bamboo traps they laid in Vietnam. Damned near lost the leg, but I told them I’d live with it or die with it, but they weren’t taking it off.” He sighed. “They didn’t listen. But the artificial one works fine. The joint kills me in cold weather, though, which is why I live in Jamaica.”
Butch lost the shock and looked at the other man with new eyes. “Where were you stationed?”
“Da Nang,” came the quiet reply. “I was there during the Tet Offensive, if you read history. My unit was sent out on a scouting mission and we ran into booby traps. I was the only survivor. Got sent home. I yelled the whole way, cursed everybody I could think of, but they wouldn’t let me go back.” His eyes were sad. “I lost my best friend, and two guys who’d been in the same boot camp with me. War is hell. Truly hell.”
“Yes, it is,” Butch agreed solemnly. “I got hit by mortar fire. My best friend ran through gunfire and carried me to safety. He came home with me. A lot of other guys didn’t.”
“At least we lived, yes?” The old man chuckled. “And that’s not a bad thing.”
Butch smiled. “Not a bad thing at all.”
“Well, I’m here with news,” the old man said. “The attorneys who tracked me down are the ones working to put your mother’s so-called boyfriend in the jailhouse for the next lifetime or two. Which brings to mind a technical detail. Do you have your mother’s will?”
“Oh, yes,” Esther said.
“And you’ve still got that damned ring I gave her,” he added, his eyes on her slender fingers. His eyes teared up and he averted them. “She never took it off.”
“I haven’t, either. I suppose I shouldn’t have been wearing it all this time. Darrin’s cohort saw it, when he was here posing as an investigator.”
“Why is the ring a concern?” Butch asked curiously. “It’s just paste . . .”
“Paste?” the old man asked, astounded. “It’s worth millions.”
The blood drained out of Butch’s face.
Esther tried to stop