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“You’re a fine one to talk,” she sputtered. Then, seeing the pain in his eyes, she wished she could take the words back.
“Is that what you think?”
“Yes,” she admitted, not wanting to hurt him but knowing that the lies would stop with her. “You fathered two children with women you didn’t marry.”
“And I didn’t want to see anyone, even a snake like Lafferty, make the same mistakes I did.”
“But—”
“No buts, Blissie,” he said, signifying that the conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over. He tilted his head to ensure that his bifocals were in the right position for reading. “Now, what have we got here?”
Bliss couldn’t believe her ears. It was as if her father would use any means possible to get his way. She’d always known he was stubborn and determined, but this side of him was new to her and she wasn’t sure she liked it very much.
“You know, for a man who swears up and down that he’s not interested in selling this place, it’s odd that you can’t put down that offer.” Bliss swatted at a cobweb that floated between the old blinds on the window and the ceiling.
“Just thought I’d see what Lafferty thinks the place is worth.” With practiced eyes he skimmed the printed text and his eyebrows jammed together in concentration. “There’s somethin’ wrong here. The figures don’t add up and… What in thunder? Is he out of his mind? This—” he snapped the crisp pages “—this is only for the north half of the property. I thought he wanted the whole place.”
“Didn’t you say that part of the ranch was in Brynnie’s name?”
Every muscle in John’s body tensed. His gaze shot up to hers. “What do you mean?’
“Well, if he
wanted the whole ranch, he’d have to deal with her for her part.”
“For the love of—” John scowled, rubbing the edge of the documents against the stubble of his chin and as he squinted, Bliss could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. “Brynnie’s not like your mother, Bliss,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “She wouldn’t expect me to give up what I love.”
“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. And Mom would never—”
“Unless she got herself conned into it.” Her father snapped the leg support of the recliner into place and climbed to his feet. Wadding the offer in his fist, he headed for the den. “I think I’d better call my lawyer.”
“Why?”
“Just to make sure Lafferty doesn’t try to pull a fast one.
* * *
“Damn it all to hell,” Mason grumbled, stomping on the brakes as his pickup slid to a stop beside the carriage house of an old Victorian home in the center of town. Four stories counting the basement, painted gray and trimmed in white gingerbread with black shutters, the mansion had been divided into separate apartments sometime between the 1920s and now. There were two other units in the old carriage house, as well, and for the next few months Mason would call the upper story of that smaller building home.
Climbing out of the cab, he spied Tiffany Santini, the widow who owned the place, clipping a few rosebuds from the garden. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, she was pleasant and pretty, the kind of woman who took to mothering like a duck to water. Mason didn’t know much about her, but he liked the way she dealt with her kids—a teenage boy and a girl of three or four.
He waved and she smiled, hoisting a gloved hand as her little girl chased a black cat through the rhododendrons flanking the back porch.
Mason had decided to rent while he was negotiating for a ranch of his own and had chosen this complex over more modern units because he felt more at home in this charming older place, which had a backyard with a play structure that Dee Dee could use whenever she came over.
He walked up the outside stairs, unlocked the door and stepped into his living room. It was sparsely furnished with only the bare essentials. The hardwood floors were begging for throw rugs and the stark walls could have used more than a splash or two of color. But all that would come later—once he’d moved into a permanent place.
At Cawthorne Acres.
For the first time he wondered if his insisting on buying old John out was wise. True, Brynnie had come to him and he’d jumped at the chance to own a spread he’d fallen in love with as a kid, but now, with the old man’s heart condition and Bliss thrown into the picture, he wasn’t so sure that he’d made the right decision.
What was the old saying? Buy in Haste, Regret at Leisure. That was it. He hoped it didn’t apply in his case.
In the kitchen he tossed his keys on the counter and reached for a glass. Pouring himself a stiff shot of bourbon, he tried to erase Bliss and the complications of dealing with her and her father from his mind. But it didn’t work. Ever since seeing her yesterday afternoon and again this morning, he’d thought of her—even made an excuse to give Cawthorne his offer in person so that he could see her again.
Bliss Cawthorne, all grown up. He remembered her as she had been ten years earlier with honey-blond hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers. She’d been a smart mouth at the time, a big-city girl who was pretty and damned well knew it. A dusting of freckles had bridged her nose and she’d been tanned all over from hours of swimming in the river.
Mason had been working for old man Cawthorne, and although all the other hired hands had warned him that the boss’s daughter was off-limits, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away. Which was where all the trouble had begun and ended.
