“I—” The tears were going to come after all. She struggled with them, swallowed viciously, then could only stare through them as Darcy came in. “I have to go,” was the best she could manage. Then she fled through the back door.

“Shawn.” Darcy dumped empties in the sink and turned to glare at him. “What the devil did you do to make Brenna cry?”

Guilt, anger, and emotions he didn’t care to explore waged an ugly war inside him. “Oh, just bugger it,” he snapped. “I’ve had enough of females for one night.”

She was mortified and full of misery. She’d upset, insulted, and embarrassed two people she cared about deeply. She’d butted in where it wasn’t her business.

No, she didn’t believe that. It was her business. Mary Kate had been flirting outrageously, and Shawn had been oblivious.

Typical.

But he wouldn’t have stayed oblivious. Her sister was beautiful, she was sweet, she was smart. And she was most definitely a young woman in full bloom.

Protecting her hadn’t been the mistake. But the method had been clumsy, and more than a little selfish. Because—and she had to face it—she’d also been a woman defending her territory.

Of which, Shawn was also oblivious.

All she could do now was mend her fences.

She’d taken a long walk on the beach. To cry it out, to think it through, to settle herself. And to ensure that when she did return home, her parents would most likely be tucked into their bed so that she could talk with Mary Kate alone.

There was a light on outside, shining over the porch, and another left burning in the front window. She left them both on, as she doubted her sister Patty would be back yet from her Saturday date.

Another wedding, she thought as she took off her jacket. More fussing and planning and cranky tears over flowers and fabric swatches.

She couldn’t for the life of her understand why a sensible person would want to go through all of that nonsense. Maureen had been a nervous wreck—and had set the entire family on its ear—before she’d finally walked down the aisle the previous autumn.

Not that she hadn’t looked lovely, Brenna thought as she hung her cap on the closet hook. All glowing and fresh in her billowy white dress and the lace veil their own mother had worn on her wedding day. Happiness had been like sunbeams, all but shining from her fingertips, and seeing that wash of love over her sister had made Brenna stop, for a short while, feeling like ten times a fool in her own fussy blue maid of honor gown.

Now if she herself ever took the plunge—and since she wanted children, what else could she do but marry eventually—simplicity would be the order of the day.

A church wedding would be fine, as she imagined her mother’s heart, and her father’s as well, would be set on that for all their daughters. But she’d be damned if she would spend months looking at dresses and searching through catalogs and discussing the pros and cons of roses over tulips or some such.