felt his gut twist. He loved his grandfather fiercely. James had been his surrogate father and his professional mentor. He’d been everything, all the family Ryan had ever known. The years had passed—of course they had. Still, in a way that had nothing to do with rational thought, he’d expected to have more time.
“There’s no reason to look so bleak, boy. I’ve enjoyed my life. Truly, I have no regrets.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “What about seeing another doctor? A specialist?”
“I told you, I already have. A battery of them. They’ve all muttered their magical incantations and read their chicken bones—and they’re in complete agreement.”
Ryan got to his feet and paced across the room. “There’s got to be something you can do.”
“There isn’t.”
“Something I can do, then!”
“There is.”
Ryan swung around. “What? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Will you?” James said softly. “Can I count on you to do something that may, at first glance, seem...difficult?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Have I ever let you down, sir?”
The old man smiled. “No. No, you have not.”
“Tell me what you want and I’ll take care of it.”
James hesitated, then cleared his throat.
“I had a visitor last week,” he said. “Two visitors, actually. Your brother’s widow—and his stepdaughter.”
Ryan frowned at the abrupt change in topic. “Bettina came to see you?”
“Yes. With her daughter, the offspring of husband number one, Gordon’s unlucky predecessor twice removed.”
“But why? I mean, Gordon’s been dead more than a year.”
“Oh, Bettina babbled on and on about family for a while but eventually she got down to basics.”
“I’ll bet.” Ryan’s tone was harsh. “What did she want?”
“Money. Not that she said so. Whatever else she is, Bettina’s not stupid. She’d never be so obvious.”
“She’s obvious enough. The only one who never saw through her was Gordon.”
“Evidently he did, at the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“He not only left Bettina, he cut her out of his will.”
Ryan’s eyebrows angled in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. He left his money to charity and his house in San Francisco to me.”
“Damn,” Ryan said softly. A slow grin crept over his mouth. “Now Bettina wants you to do something about it.”
“What she wants, as she so delicately put it, is for me to remember that she is one of us.”
“The hell she is!”
James nodded. “I agree. But there are other considerations.”
“What other considerations? The woman’s no good. She must have slept in a hundred different beds before she set her sights on Gordon.”
“Including yours?”
Ryan swung toward James. “No,” he said harshly, “not including mine—but it wasn’t for lack of effort. She made that clear enough.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”
James smiled. “I was only seventy-nine when she married Gordon,” he said wryly. “A man in his prime can always read a woman like that.”
“Gordon couldn’t,” Ryan said, his expression still stony.
The old man sighed. “This isn’t about your brother’s inability to see the truth, it’s about responsibility.”
“Are you saying you feel sympathy for this woman?”
“I’m not talking about sympathy. I’m talking about responsibility. And family obligation. Those things are important, Ryan. Surely you know that.”
Ryan looked at James’s lined face, at the hand holding the cognac glass and its slight but perceptible tremor, and he forced himself to swallow his anger.
“You’re right, so if you’re about to tell me you’ve decided to deed Bettina that house in San Francisco or include her in your will, you needn’t worry. What you do with your estate is your business, sir. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“But you wouldn’t approve.”
“No. I wouldn’t.”
James laughed. “Direct, as always.”
Ryan smiled back at the old man. “I wonder where I could possibly have picked up such a trait?”
“Believe me, my boy, I have no intention of giving Bettina anything. I’d never countermand Gordon’s desires.”
“Well, then, I don’t see—”
“Did I mention that her daughter was with her?”
“Yes.” Ryan crossed the room and poured himself some more cognac. “She must be...what? Seventeen? Eighteen? The last I saw her—the only time I saw her, come to think of it—was the evening before Gordon moved to the coast. He brought Bettina and the girl here for dinner.”
“Your memory is better than mine. I didn’t remember the girl at all.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to remember. The child sat like a lump. She was a gawky-looking thing, all bones and knees, decked out in frills that didn’t become her.”
James smiled. “You’ll be glad to hear she’s improved somewhat,” he said dryly.
“Well, I suppose she’s past the awkward age.”
“Indeed,” James said, holding out his empty glass and nodding toward the cognac bottle.
Ryan looked at the glass in the old man’s hand, hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. What did it matter now?
“Meaning,” he said as he poured the cognac, “she’s a chip off the old block?”
“Like her mother? No, not at all. They don’t even look alike. The girl must take after her father. She’s very fair.” James smiled. “Bettina was all got up in some purple thing like a pair of Doctor Denton’s, only two sizes too small and without attached feet.”
Ryan laughed. “A catsuit, I think it’s called.”
“But
