It looked as if that were news to Isabel and Trey, but they didn’t contradict her. Ry didn’t blame them. They’d had enough fireworks in here.

“Why don’t you wait a day to do that?” his father suggested. “Ry has come all this way, and Jackie would love to see him.”

Ry’s mouth almost dropped in surprise. First, that his dad seemed to care. Second, that Dad thought he could influence a decision made by Mom. That didn’t happen.

“No,” his mother said, moving toward the door, clearly through with the conversation. “We’ve made our plans. We’ll stick to them. And we should get back to our guests.”

She shut the door behind her, and his dad swallowed hard. Had it always been like this and he’d been too young to notice? Beth and Meg looked at each other, sharing a silent communication that he wished he were in on. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he’d hoped for a lot better than this.

“Ry, let’s still get together,” his dad suggested as if there had been no unpleasantness. In truth, the tension in the room did seem to leave with his mother. “How about meeting me tomorrow morning after I make rounds?”

“Think you can get up that early, Ry?” Trey snickered.

“Oh, I think so,” he answered, letting his drawl counter his brother’s rudeness. “I’m still on New York time. When I meet Dad, it will be about the time my shift is half over.”

“It must be nice that paramedics have regular hours,” Isabel said.

Ry loved the way she said “paramedics,” grouping them with some lower form of life.

Trey gave his wife a little hug, beaming approval. Poor Izzie, if that’s what she lived for.

“I’m never sure when I’ll see Trey,” she added. “He works so hard, just like his father.”

If Trey was like his dad, Izzie would be raising the kiddies alone.

“Well, then, Ry, I’ll meet you at the hospital,” his dad said, heading for the door.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, following.

Beth and Meg did, as well, but Isabel stopped them, saying, “Wait a minute. Trey, I think Ry should see our beautiful home. Why don’t all of you come over for breakfast in a little while?”

“It really is beautiful,” Beth said, mischief in her eyes. “Isabel was an interior decorator before she was married. She has wonderful taste. You’ll want to see for yourself.”

“I’m still an interior decorator, Beth,” Isabel claimed.

“Sure, you are, baby,” Trey said, shepherding her toward the door. “But we won’t trouble Ry with a visit.”

Isabel pouted. “I don’t see why not.”

“Yeah, well, Ry’s like magic. Now you see him, now you don’t. Don’t count on your dear brother-in-law, Izzie. If he couldn’t come to our wedding, he won’t be coming for breakfast.”

Meg cranked up the volume of the music playing in her car, praying she’d catch its soothing mood of worship. Anger still roiled in her stomach, thinking of Mrs. Brennan’s explosive behavior.

When they’d been younger, she’d known Mrs. Brennan wasn’t a loving mom like her own, but she hadn’t seemed icicle cold or dirt mean. Tonight Mrs. Brennan’s rudeness had caught Meg completely off guard.

Meg’s eyes focused on the taillights of Ry’s rental SUV, making sure that he didn’t lose sight of Beth’s Jeep on the freeway. The three of them caravanned to Beth’s condo where they planned to put the awfulness behind them and have a good time.

Her first New Year’s resolution was to make the rest of Ry’s visit fabulously happy. She would tease him, play along when he teased back and keep the mood full of fun, just the way he liked. A short-term resolution, she knew she could keep it, especially if she kept her head and remembered he was her old buddy and pal.

For a minute there, when they’d kissed at midnight, she’d turned into mush. What a joke on her! His soft kisses brought back the old longings she’d had as a kid when her crush on him was too big a secret to share with anyone, not even Beth.

But, not to be too hard on herself, they were very good kisses. When she had more time, she should analyze them thoroughly. Mr. Right ought to kiss like that. Maybe Ry could give him lessons.

She grinned, laughing to herself. Maybe she should tell Ry. In the old days, that would have tickled him. It wouldn’t make up for the memory of that awful scene in the Brennans’ study, but she wished something could.

It had just killed her, seeing his mom treat him like that. How had he taken her abuse without fighting back? Beth was a fighter, and she was herself. But not Ry. He seldom had to be. As a kid, he’d charmed his way through life.

Ry had been their peacemaker, mediating the back-and-forth between Beth and herself, calming their storms, and so secretive about his own feelings that she sometimes wondered if she really knew him.

One thing she did know. Ry hated conflict enough to walk away from it. Look at the way he’d done that tonight. A lesser man could not have kept his cool, but Ry had. She’d always wondered what happened to cross the line of his tolerance and make him leave all those years ago. She had blamed his dad, Trey, Uncle Charlie, Uncle Al and Ry’s grandfather. Tonight it seemed that it must have been his mother all along, shoving the great Rylander Hamilton in her son’s face.

It was amazing how Mrs. Brennan had come up with that plan to drive Aunt Jackie to Palm Springs rather than spend time with an unfavored son. She’d made that trip up on the spot. Trey and Isabel’s surprise gave that away.

Poor Isabel. What a life she would have. That flare of Trey’s jealousy was amazing. Ry was an outrageous flirt, but he wouldn’t be interested in Isabel. Anything that appealed to Trey was an automatic turnoff for Ry. Beth and she used to make a game of noticing that if Trey wanted a purple lollipop, Ry chose red. If Trey switched to red, Ry switched to green. It was always like that.

She’d hated how Trey still put Ry down. Trey had such a lot going for him. Why did he have to do that?

Trey was almost as good-looking—when he wasn’t looking down his nose at a person. Ry had been the standout athlete, but Trey had done okay, playing tennis and golf. Ry had tons more charm and charisma, but Trey had a good career, a beautiful home and a trophy wife. Shouldn’t that be enough?

A pickup slid in between Beth’s car and Ry’s as their exit came up, blocking his vision of the lead car. Meg turned on her signal indicator, hoping that Ry would notice. He did and moved into the exit lane. Ry wouldn’t get lost. He was too smart for that.

The three of them pulled into the spacious lot by Beth’s condo, a place Beth couldn’t afford on her resident’s pay, but Grandma Hamilton had left trust funds to see that her grandchildren could live well.

Beth parked and waited for them by the elevator. Ry walked over to open Meg’s door, offering his hand to help her out. Just the touch of his hand set off those silly tingles again. It was absurd how her body seemed to be out of touch with her brain.

“Cool car,” he said, scanning her pride and joy, a white convertible with a tan top and tan leather interior. “Not particularly safe, but very cool.”

“Since when were you interested in safety, Motorcycle Man?” she challenged, more aware of his nearness than she ought to be. A soft breeze on her bare shoulders made her shiver.

“You’re cold,” he said, shrugging out of his leather jacket. “Put this on, and don’t give me any back talk.”

The jacket, warm from his body, did feel good, though not quite as good as his arm would have felt. She locked and slammed the car door shut, congratulating herself on remembering the keys. That ought to prove that Ry hadn’t muddled her mind.

“Did you want to take your purse in?” Ry asked, nodding toward it on the seat inside. “And the bag in the back?”

Of course she did. “Maybe I should,” she said, pretending she did have a brain.

She retrieved the purse and bag, locked the car again and tried to breathe in the small space between them. He took the bag and slung the strap over his shoulder.