Page 82 of Weston’s Treasure

Treasure.

With another sharp embrace, she let me go and Weston was there to claim me. And thank God he was. My knees were weak, my legs jelly, my heart hammering, and my world rocked, I couldn’t stand on my own.

“Jeez, woman, you just couldn’t stop yourself, could you? The poor boy hasn’t even gotten his girl in the house!” a voice boomed from the porch.

“Quiet, Len. I haven’t seen my son in ages.”

“Well, now you have. So how ‘bout you let them in so I can say hello to my son?”

“Bossy,” Margie mumbled and I giggled.

Weston’s arm around my shoulders tightened and I looked up at his smiling face.

“Now I understand where you get it from.”

“Right.” Weston’s lip twitched. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant him or his father’s bossiness but I didn’t have time to ask because we were moving up the steps, across the porch, then into the house.

I also didn’t have time to look around the beautiful interior before Weston’s father pulled me from Weston, held both of my hands in his, gave me a once-over from top to toe before he loudly declared. “Passed all the right genes down to my boy.”

“Um…” I didn’t know what to say to that because I had no clue what the man was talking about.

“Len!” Margie snapped. “That is rude. And sexist.”

“Woman, how is a man complimenting a pretty lady, sexist?” Len returned.

It’s important to note that during this exchange, Len was still holding my hands and he hadn’t stopped looking me dead in the eyes. Dead on. It was hard not to squirm, he looked so much like Weston, save being thirty years older. But the intensity in his gaze was the same. Searching. Knowing. So I gave Len the only thing I could give him—all of me. I let go of my social mask, the one that Weston hated so much, and let Len see the real me.

I knew it worked when Len’s brown eyes, the ones he’d given his son gentled. He saw me and for once in my life, I wasn’t afraid he’d exploit the pain. I wasn’t scared he’d walk over me. I knew Len, like his son, would protect the soft spot.

“There is more to a woman than her looks,” Margie continued.

“Know that. I gave that to my boy, too, great taste in women. That means the woman standing before me is not only beautiful but smart. Bet she doesn’t put up with his shit, either.”

“Mouth!” Margie shrieked and I pressed my lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Jesus. Can we not freak my woman out? Dad, give me Silver.”

Len ignored Weston’s request and jerked me to his broad chest and wrapped his arms around me in what was an arguably better hug than his wife’s. But only because when he held me, I felt the same umbrella of protection I did when I was in Weston’s arms.

“Mighty pleased you’re here, Silver.”

“Pleased to be here, Mr. Beil.”

“Len,” he corrected.

“Len,” I whispered.

Needless to say, I wasn’t freaking out anymore, worried Weston’s parents would hate me. Now I was in a panic, because they seemed to like me, and I really loved that they did.

27

Weston watched as Silver charmed the hell out of his parents. Margie Beil wasn’t easily impressed, but Silver had the older woman eating out of her hand. He’d never doubted his parents wouldn’t welcome Silver and see exactly who she was to him. However, it had taken his father less time than he’d thought it would for Len to see the pain Silver tried to hide from the world.

Though it had shocked the shit out of him, Silver hadn’t hidden it. Not from his mother when she’d cradled Silver’s face and tears had formed from the foreignness of motherly affection, and certainly not from his father when he was openly studying her. Silver had let it all hang out. And just as Weston had suspected, his father saw it, didn’t like the pain in her eyes, and had already moved in to do his part in eradicating it.

Damn, but he loved his folks. They’d been good parents, patient and supportive when he was growing up, but what they were giving Silver proved they were straight-up good people.