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“Maybe so, but no matter what happens,” Bliss said, unable to hold her tongue, “I’m not going to be bitter about it or carry a huge chip on my shoulder.”
Tiffany shook her head. “Good for you, Bliss.”
“Would it be so terrible to get to know each other?” Bliss asked and wondered why it was suddenly so important. So what if Tiffany didn’t want to have anything to do with her? She’d lived all her life not knowing she had a half sister, so why push it?
Tiffany’s eyes were cold as ice. “I just don’t know if there’s any reason to pursue this. I’m not going to make any bones about not liking your father. And trust me, I’ll never think of him as mine, so, as for you, all that I feel toward you right now is idle curiosity.”
“But you came over here.”
She shook her head. “I guess I was feeling guilty, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. The thing is that even though I don’t care about John Cawthorne, I wouldn’t want him to suffer, so I’m glad to hear that he’s recovering. Other than that, I don’t have much to say.”
Bliss dropped her hand and Tiffany left.
Why Bliss felt a sense of loss, she didn’t understand. As far as she was concerned, Tiffany Santini had never been her sister and never would be. Tiffany had decided.
* * *
Brynnie’s house was situated two blocks from the park and painted a faded shade of salmon. It had once been a small cottage but had been expanded over the years to accommodate various husbands and additional children. A wing from the kitchen shot into the backyard, the attic had been turned into a bedroom/loft and the garage had been converted into an apartment attached to the house by an open breezeway. A few petunias splashed color from barrels placed by the front door, where the torn mesh of the screen needed replacing. Three cats lazed on a cracked driveway.
As Bliss knocked on the door, she heard her father’s voice through the screen. “I told you, this isn’t happening—”
“Come in—the door’s open,” Brynnie yelled over John’s deeper, angry voice.
“I don’t care what any damned doctor says, I’m not lyin’ around here twiddlin’ my fingers and toes.” John Cawthorne was seated on a plaid couch and pulling on a boot. His face was red, his jaw set, and Bliss knew from experience that he wasn’t going to change his mind. “Hi, kiddo,” he said as Bliss entered, then went right on ranting at Brynnie.
“I have to check with the accountant about my insurance payments and the foreman of the ranch about how much feed we’ll need this winter. Bill Crosswhite’s got a bull I might want to buy or use, and I’d like to see the animal myself. Then there’s the properties up in Seattle—the house is up for sale and the boat. I’ve got two empty warehouses that someone wants to convert to apartments and…” His voice trailed off as he realized both women were staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“And what about the wedding?” Brynnie asked. “Are you gonna be able to squeeze that in?”
“Of course, but—”
“We’re supposed to talk to the preacher this afternoon.”
“The preacher. Right.” John rubbed the side of his face and scratched at the silver stubble on his jaw. Rather than address the subject, he asked Bliss, “How’re you doing out at the ranch all alone?”
“I’m not really alone, Dad. You’ve got workers.”
He snorted. “Such as they are.”
“Well, they’re keeping things in line and Mason has been by a couple of times.”
“Great,” her father grumbled. “He’s probably gonna change his mind again and find a way to finagle me and keep the damned place.” He shot Brynnie a damning glance. “Or has he been hanging around because of you?” He eyed his daughter and reached for his other boot.
“I don’t think all of Mason’s motives are evil,” she said with a smile.
“Is that so? Listen, Blissie, don’t defend that bastard to me. He’s even gone so far to work a deal with Brynnie behind my back. Helluva guy, that Lafferty.”
Brynnie, who had been reading her horoscope in the newspaper, said, “That was my fault, John Cawthorne, and you know it. Now Mason’s trying to make amends and the least you could do is be big enough to see it.” Obviously irritated, she snapped the paper, then dropped it onto a coffee table already laden with empty glasses, ashtrays, magazines and books of matches.
John was having none of it. “That bastard hurt my baby.”
And so have you, Dad, she thought silently. With all of your lies.
“Come on, let’s not fight,” Brynnie said to John. “I don’t know why you’re so darned ornery today. You know you’re not supposed to be getting all riled up. Just lie back down, switch on the television and wait for Reverend Jones.”
“I just can’t stand lyin’ around doin’ nothin’.”
“The doctor said that if you take it easy, you can move back to the ranch soon—”
