“Melanie was a nice girl.”

“Melanie was a terrific girl,” he agreed.

“You blew that one.”

“I did.” Grandma would get no argument from Cole. He’d loved Melanie. Everyone had loved Melanie. There wasn’t a mean or selfish bone in her body, and any man on the planet would be lucky to have her as a wife.

Problem was, Cole had plenty of mean and selfish bones in his body. He couldn’t be the husband Melanie or anyone else needed. He couldn’t do the doting bridegroom, couldn’t kowtow to a woman’s whims, change his habits, his hair or his underwear style to suit another person.

In short, there was no way in the world he was getting married now or anytime in the foreseeable future. Which left him with one mother of a problem. A nine-hundred-year-old problem.

“You’re not getting any younger,” said Grandma.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Cole as Kyle and Katie climbed into a chauffeur-driven limousine for the ten-mile ride back to the ranch and the garden reception.

“About time.” Grandma harrumphed.

“I was thinking the Thunderbolt of the North would make a perfect wedding gift for Kyle and Katie.”

Even amid the cacophony of goodbye calls and well wishes, Cole recognized the stunned silence beside him. Heresy to suggest the family’s antique brooch go to the second son, he knew. But Kyle was the logical choice.

Cole had already moved out of the main house. He’d set up in the old cabin by the creek so Kyle and Katie would have some privacy. Soon their children would take over the second floor, making Kyle the patriarch of the next Erickson dynasty. And the Thunderbolt of the North was definitely a dynastic kind of possession.

As the wedding guests moved en masse toward their vehicles, Grandma finally spoke. “You’re suggesting I throw away nine hundred years of tradition.”

“I’m suggesting you respect nine hundred years of tradition. Kyle and Katie will have kids.”