Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) Read Free Page B

in. Entering our house, the natural wood-look staircase was on the right, the striped brown and grey papered hall led to the kitchen, with the entrance to the living room on the left through the glossy varnished doors.
      As soon I got through the door, my youngest, Jess, ran to me, gripping my leg with a cuddle. She was four and attending pre-school. A total cutie with bright, shiny, loose blonde hair flowing down her shoulders and bottle-green eyes she inherited from me. The rest of her flawless looks inherited from her mother, making her a little darling.
      “Daddy, was you out running again?” She asked in a squeaky high pitch, looking up at me with her dreamy eyes.
      “Yes, hon. Daddy was running again. Have you had your supper yet?”
      “No, not yet. Mummy’s making spaghetti.”
    “Ooh, great. Be a good girl, get yourself cleaned up and tell your brother, wherever he is, to do the same.”
      She paused and thought about it, trying to weigh up if playing with her doll was more important.
    “OK daddy, I’ll go wash my hands and tell Junior.” She climbed up the stairs, using her hands for support, shouting “Junior! Supper! Get ready!” Right bossy little madam she was.
      They were both great kids, but Jess in particular was so well behaved.
      I wandered through to the kitchen where May was setting the table, looking gorgeous as usual. A perfect, slender figure, even after two kids and at the age of thirty two, and five foot five. Wavy black hair curved at the base of her neck, dreamy chestnut eyes, and olive skin, darker than the usual Scottish woman. The woman of any man’s dreams. The only word I could use to describe her was majestic. I counted myself blessed every day I woke in her arms. She could make any man turn his head to take a second look. I was lucky to have her, considering I wasn’t that much of a looker with my smashed up nose and scruffy appearance. Somehow, May must have seen the good in me.
      “Hi, good looking, what’s cooking?” I asked, smiling.
      “Spaghetti and meatballs. Hungry?”
      “Bet your ass am hungry, after that run. I’ll get these sweaty clothes off, and grab a quick shower.”  
      Showering, I prepared myself to ask the question, but the truth was I intended on going to Kilgours with Tim, with or without her permission.
      We all sat down at the solid wood dining-table in the middle of the kitchen, a compact room once everyone was seated. May insisted we have supper every night at the table to generate the ‘family feeling’ as she put it. Her cooking was equal to her beauty. Everything she made I ate with enjoyment over the past 13 years.
      With the kids sat down, we all started to eat. The kids were always well behaved at the dinner table, or anywhere really. That was down to May’s natural mothering, so patient. I had never heard her raise her voice to them, and she didn’t need to.
      I sat carefully priming myself to ask the question on my mind and failing a couple of times, already knowing she hated the word boxing.
      I decided I’d get the kids out the way first. At the end of our meal, I asked my seven year-old, Junior, to clean up.
      Just as well behaved as Jess, but as he was getting older, a little bit of cheek was setting in. His chestnut eyes inherited from his mother were beginning to glint smugly, a know-it-all, the same smarty-pants every kid is at that age, but we were all young once. Being slightly taller than the average kid his age, I thought he would probably grow into a big strapping lad like his old man. Quite a looker, he was already attracting the attention of the girls in the playground. He would break some hearts in the future. And, he was gifted at getting his own way, especially with his mother.
      “Son, could you clean up the dishes when we’re done, please?”
      “But Dad, I’ve never had to do that before!”
      “I know, but as you get older you have to help your parents out around the