“Yeah.” On a long breath, she pushed herself up to sit again. “It looks that way. It looks as if I started moving here, to this, from that first minute. Dizzy, hot, overwhelmed, dazzled, scared. Just like now. It shouldn’t be, but it is. It shouldn’t have been for you either, considering. It must run in the family.”

Billy. Ryder.

“And I’ll bet Billy had that same cocky nature. It shouldn’t be so appealing. Swept you off your feet. I can see it. I can see it now. It didn’t matter who your father was, what your station was. He loved you. He saw you, and that was all that mattered. I wonder what that’s like. To have someone so strong and confident see you, look at you, and you’re all that matters.”

She sighed now, got to her feet. “I can’t think about that right now. I can’t expect that. I need to finish my list, and I should bake some muffins before the guests arrive.”

The cupboard door where she kept her baking supplies flew open, slammed shut.

“There’s no reason to be annoyed with me. Billy loved you, I understand. He wanted to marry you. Ryder doesn’t . . .”

She stepped back instinctively as the door slammed again. She heard the names clearly.

Billy. Ryder.

“All right, Eliza. Enough. If I say I wished Ryder felt for me what Billy did for you, will you be satisfied? But Billy and Ryder aren’t . . .”

She stopped, braced a hand on the counter as it sprang up in her. “Oh God, is that it? Was it always that simple. Billy Ryder? Joseph William Ryder. Is that it? Is that his name?”

The lights came on in a brilliant glow, pulsed like a heartbeat.

“Billy Ryder. Yours, and apparently mine. His ancestor? Could that be? His, like you’re mine. Wait.”

She grabbed the kitchen phone, punched in Ryder’s cell.

“What?”

She ignored the automatic annoyance. He hated being interrupted, but that was too damn bad. “Ryder’s a family name, isn’t it?”

“Huh? Jesus. So what?”

She pitched her voice up, compensating for the hammering on his end. “It’s your mother’s maiden name? Her family name?”

“Yeah, and so what?”

“Billy. It was his family name, too. He’s Joseph William Ryder.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Do you recognize the name? Is it familiar?”

“Why would it be? He was dead a couple hundred years before I was born. Ask my mother. Ask Carolee. Call Owen. Any one of them would know more than I do.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“Congratulations.”

“I haven’t found him yet. But yeah, it’s worth a high five. I’ll talk to you later.”

She hung up before he could, immediately dialed Carolee. No time to bake muffins, she decided. She’d get something from the bakery instead.