A Proper Wife

James, still sitting by the fire, looked up. “Interesting evening,” he said mildly.

A smile twisted across Ryan’s lips. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“Well? What did you think?”

“What I think is good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Don’t mouth platitudes, boy. What do you think of the girl?”

Ryan laughed as he took the bottle of cognac and poured himself a double.

“A proper wife, you said.”

“I still say it.”

“We must have spent the last hour with two different Devon Franklins.”

“If you’re referring to the fact that she’s also got some spirit—”

“She’s ill-tempered, argumentative, and sharp-tongued,” Ryan said, and tossed off half the cognac.

“A woman who’d roll over and play dead wouldn’t keep your interest and you know it.”

“She’s also Bettina’s daughter.”

“Very astute,” James said wryly.

“Come on, Grandfather, you know what I mean! Those women came to New York to try and get some money out of you.”

“Bettina did. I don’t think the girl is part of it. And your brother thought well of her.”

“Yeah.” Ryan gave a harsh laugh. “And my brother sure as hell was a terrific judge of character.”

James let out a deep sigh. “I think it’s time we said goodnight, Ryan. I’m feeling rather weary.”

Ryan’s eyes flew to his grandfather’s face. Exhaustion was written across the stern old features.

“Of course, sir. I’ll help you to your room.”

“Brimley can help me to my room,” James said testily. “Let the dragon earn her living.”

Ryan smiled. “I’ll send her in.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as you’d hoped,” he said softly. It was a lie, but a harmless one.

“That’s all right. Nothing important is ever simple, my boy. I’ve lived long enough to know that that is one of life’s few truisms.”

Moments later Ryan slid behind the wheel of his Porsche. He shook his head as he thought of how close Devon Franklin and her mother had come to catching the brass ring.

But Devon’s temper had done her in.

Not that he’d really have married her. He’d walk through fire for his grandfather. But marry Devon Franklin?

Ryan shuddered as he put the car in gear. Not in this lifetime, he thought. He stepped on the gas and the Porsche roared down the driveway and into the night.

CHAPTER FOUR

MONDAY morning did not start well.

Ryan’s clock radio, programmed to awaken him to soothing music at seven, instead woke him an hour later with a burst of what sounded like machine gun fire.