Page 80 of Craig

Craig held his breath and waited for the showdown.

"Watch your mouth," his grandfather growled. There was fire in his eyes, but a twitch touched his lips.

"As far as I can tell, we live in the US of A, where we're blessed with the freedom of speech, and I chose to vote blue." She pointed her fork at him, really enjoying the debate.

"You cannot tell me that you agree with him building walls and weeding out immigrants."

"They're the ones destroying the country."

"They're the ones building it," she corrected him as she scooped up some potatoes.

"The backbone of this country, the success of it, was made possible by immigrants. Hell, we're all immigrants or our ancestors were. You're one to talk; your people came over from Ireland."

"So?"

"You're making my point."

"That's not the only thing he's doing."

"You're damn right. He's making a mess of things."

She swung her eyes around to look at Craig. "What do you think?"

Holding up a hand, he used his other one to pick up his wine glass, eyes glinting in amusement. "I'm not getting involved."

"Coward," she muttered.

"Practical," he corrected. "And you seem to be doing fine."

When she rolled her eyes, he laughed.

Watching them together, Cecil felt a pang. She had brought laughter and light into the house, and it was possible that she would be significant in bringing him and his grandson together.

Craig left them to their Scrabble, refusing to join with the excuse that he wanted to check on something in his office.

They retired to his grandfather's bedroom, where a cheerful fire made a difference in the usually gloomy room.

He was using his father's office, and the familiarity of it settled around him like a comfortable cloak. Clive Muldoon had gone for comfort instead of style, and the sturdy desk had seen years of use.

The chair was weathered and worn, fitting his body perfectly. Books lined the wall because his father had loved his volumes.

Spinning the chair around, Craig studied the first editions. Yeats, Byron, and Shakespeare were mixed with James Patterson, Stephen King, and a few other bestselling authors.

His mother had been a romance buff.

Craig grinned as he swung his gaze to the section that had been hers. Nora Roberts headed the list.

She had also been into mystery and had a passion for historical romance. He had fond memories of seeing them seated on the electric blue sofa tucked beneath the window, cuddled together and reading.

There would be a glass of his father's favorite scotch on the cherry wood table, and his mother would have her glass of Cab next to her.

They had never allowed the gloom of his grandfather's bad temper and rigidity to spoil their times together.

Leaning back and ignoring the files piled on the desk for his attention, he felt a frown touching his brow as his thoughts went upstairs. The old man was mellowing.

In the past, he never would have allowed discussions at his table unless it had to do with the company. And he would deliberately ignore his daughter-in-law, making it obvious that her opinion didn't count.

Rosemary Muldoon had been an ardent and passionate advocate for abused children and the homeless and had been actively involved in a number of charities. She had hated to see anyone hurting and had even been involved with several animal shelters as well.