Man of Her Dreams

by Patt Marr

  “Izzie,” his brother said, “this is the prodigal son— my brother, Rylander Hamilton Brennan.”

  Ry didn’t mind the prodigal bit, but he hated being called Rylander Hamilton. That name belonged to Mom’s coldhearted father.

  “Just ‘Ry’ will do. It’s good to meet you, Izzie,” he said, stepping forward to greet his new sister-in-law with a brotherly hug. Any woman named Izzie had to be cool.

  But she checked his move, extending her hand for a handshake. “I prefer ‘Isabel,’” she said, glancing uneasily at Trey. “Only Trey calls me ‘Izzie.’”

  “‘Isabel’ it is.” The name thing again. He supposed he could understand that, even though he did wonder what she seemed so nervous about. The way Trey held her close to his side suggested Trey’s old nasty jealousy, but surely Trey wouldn’t think Ry would hit on his wife—or any man’s wife.

  “We missed you at our wedding,” she said, glancing at her husband, as if she sought approval. “You should have been there, Ry.”

  Was there anything more endearing than a good scolding? “You write a great thank-you note, Isabel,” he said to remind her that he wasn’t totally bad.

  The sterling silver coffee service had cost him a month’s salary, not something he could afford on his paramedic pay. It had been worth dipping into his trust fund to do something right, which he could, thanks to Beth’s suggestion that they wanted something as useless as a silver coffee service.

  “Ry, I hope you won’t mind that we exchanged your gift for the service Izzie really wanted,” Trey said, as only he could. “I didn’t mind making up the difference in cost.”

  By reflex, Ry slid into the laid-back mode he’d perfected as a child when he wanted to take his brother out. “Mind? Me? I’d have returned it myself. But then, I’d have used the money on something useful, like a down payment on a matching motorcycle for my bride.”

  Trey made that particular sound of disgust that used to make Ry’s day. It still did.

  “Tell me that you don’t still ride a motorcycle,” his long-suffering brother implored.

  Excellent. It felt just as good as ever to make his brother crazy.

  “As a paramedic,” Trey continued, “you’ve surely had to scrape motorcyclists off the pavement enough times to know better.”

  Of course he had. They didn’t call them “donor-cycles” in the ER for nothing. Ry hadn’t ridden one in years. “But there’s nothing like the freedom you feel, weaving in and out of traffic, on two wheels.”

  “Ry?” His father’s voice. Ry turned at the sound.

  “Happy New Year, Dad.” He reached out to shake his father’s hand. It was show time. This is what he’d come home for. God willing, he planned to be a good son.

  If his father were surprised to see Ry, he didn’t show it. He took Ry’s hand, holding the grip seconds longer than politeness required. That was a good sign.

  “You’re looking well, Dad,” Ry said in good-manner mode, though his father didn’t look well at all. Ry wasn’t a doctor like half of the crowd here at the party, but he recognized a stressed-out man when he saw one.

  “Have you seen your mother?” his father said, his eyes sweeping the room as if he were looking for her.

  “Yes, I got my first New Year’s hug from her.”

  The relief on his father’s face was pitifully real. “Good, that’s good,” he said, patting Ry on the shoulder.

  His father’s touch was so unexpectedly moving that emotion tightened Ry’s chest. “I don’t want to take you away from your guests, Dad. Maybe we can get together tomorrow and talk?”

  “Would that suit your schedule better, Ry?” Trey asked sarcastically. “Personally, I don’t think the prodigal son should expect a big welcome here.”

  Ry clenched his teeth so tight his jaw hurt. This was a nightmare.

  “Let’s take this to the study,” his father said firmly, giving Trey a silencing glance and leading the way.

  “Fine with me,” Trey said, taking Isabel’s arm and quickly stepping to be next in line.

  Beth grabbed Meg’s hand. “C’mon, we’re not going to miss this.”

  Meg pulled back. “I don’t belong.”

  “You belong as much as I do,” Ry muttered, shoving her in front of him. He could use their support. He looked around for his mother. Shouldn’t she be here, too, especially when she’d been so glad to see him?

  Closing the study door, his father motioned for them to be seated. “How long are you here for, Ry?”

  “I fly back the day after tomorrow.”

  “How long have you been here?” Trey asked, as if Ry might have squeezed in a mere obligatory visit just now.

  Ry checked his watch. “Less than an hour.” It was a shame that he felt he had to justify anything to his family, but trust wouldn’t be easy to win back. If he had to account for his time, that was an easy price to pay.

  “You started the celebration without me?” his mother said as she swept into the room, her party tiara sparkling as if it might be real jewels.

  Ry felt his heart accelerate as it used to when he was a child, knowing Mom had arrived and was now the one in charge.

  When had Ry ever seen her so happy? Glancing around the room, all of them seemed to be asking the same question.

  “Ry’s home! You know what this means,” she told them, as if they were collectively dense. Smiling at him, she sat down on the arm of his chair, wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her adoring gaze on him. “Tell them, Ry.”

  He would if he could. He could barely breathe with his mother’s full affection squarely on him. Had it ever happened before? What would make his mother this happy, this full of joy?

  Slow realization crept through his mind. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said, stretching the truth, dreading the explosive moment that was sure to come if he didn’t come up with what his mother wanted to hear.

  She stiffened in his arms. “Don’t quibble, Ry. There’s no in-between. You’re either here to follow your destiny, or you’re not.”

  His heart sank. It was as bad as he’d feared. He could feel the tension in the room, as if they all held their breaths, and he felt terrible about it. He’d come home to make things right, not worse.

  “Mom, I don’t want to disappoint you, but—”

  “No!” She stood and whirled away from him, her eyes hot with anger. “Not another word. Not if you’re going to disappoint me.”

  But wasn’t that his role in this family? He’d learned that before he’d learned to read.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded, her tone so unwelcome it stung.

  He dropped his eyes and prayed, not sentences, not even words. Just the name of his Lord, silently, fervently.

  “Deborah, why don’t we go back to our guests?” his father said, taking her arm.

  She shook off his hand and went to Trey, sitting on the arm of his chair as she’d sat by Ry. Trey put his arm around her protectively, gloating in her preference.

  “I’m not leaving until I hear what Ry has to say.” His mother leaned against her elder son.

  His dad had tried. Ry had to give him that. It was more than Ry could remember his dad doing before.

  “Mom, the reason I came home was to wish you and Dad Happy New Year. And I want to say that I’m sorry for—”

  “Sorry?” his mother interrupted. “Sorry! That’s it?”

  Ry froze, speechless, staring at his mother’s angry, quivering lips.

  “My father would turn over in his grave if he could see the lack of dedication you have in your life.” Her voice shook with emotion. “With the advantages you’ve had and the opportunities you’ve thrown away, you’re a disgrace to his name! Rylander Hamilton was a healer, not a glorified taxi driver. You could have been like him. You still can!”

  The injustice of her words sent adrenaline pumping through Ry’s body. He wanted to rush out of the room, slam the door behind him and never come back.

  Bu
t he sat, rooted in place, feeling sorrow creep through his mind, replacing that first flood of anger. In his work, he had seen sick people who couldn’t distinguish reality from fantasy. His mother—with her crazy highs and lows, her swings from utter devotion to utmost derision—had to be sick. He wasn’t trained to identify the problem, but the doctors sitting in this room ought to know.

  One look at his dad said he did…and was helpless to do anything about it. What about the rest of them? Yes, Trey knew. And Beth? The sympathy in her eyes about broke his heart. Only Meg was as much in the dark as he was, but she looked as if she were ready to do battle if he gave her the nod.

  He couldn’t leave it like this. He’d come all this way. Maybe by tomorrow his mother’s mood would improve.

  Searching for words that wouldn’t ignite another outburst, he said, “You have guests. I don’t want to keep you from them. Mom, I told Dad that I’d like to come back tomorrow if that would be okay.” He hadn’t talked this way in years. Hat-in-hand polite, fearful of rejection.

  “You’re not spending the night here?”

  Another swing? She wanted him here?

  “I’ve already invited Ry to stay with me, Mom,” his sister said, coming to his rescue.

  “You only have one bedroom,” his mother argued.

  “Ry can sleep on the sofa.”

  “The sofa?” It was Beth’s turn to receive the maternal glare.

  “It pulls out, queen-size,” Beth said, grinning in spite of the glare. Nothing ruffled Beth.

  “Nonsense. Ry, you have a real bed upstairs.”

  This was unbelievable. Now his mother was in a tug-of-war over where he slept?

  “Not your old bed, of course,” Trey said, plainly delighted to enter the fray. “Mom redecorated soon after you left. The same summer, in fact.”

  Ry almost laughed. Did Trey think that tidbit was important? His room had been right for a boy, with its sports theme and trophies that no one cared about except the guy who earned them, and he’d left them behind.

  “So, would tomorrow be okay?” he asked again, trying to keep them focused on the real deal instead of where he would sleep and the decor of his room.

  “That will be fine,” his father said. “Come for brunch. All of you.” His gaze included Meg.

  “I’m sorry,” his mother said, cold as ice. “That won’t do.” She picked a bit of confetti off of her sleeve. “I won’t be here. I’m driving Aunt Jackie back to Palm Springs. Isabel and Trey are going along.”

  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.