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A Second-Chance Proposal
C.J. Carmichael
He's back!Two years ago, almost everyone in Canmore, Alberta, thought Dylan McLean was responsible for the death of a teenage girl on his father's ranch. Only Cathleen Shannon believed he was innocent.Then he left her at the altar and fled town. Now Dylan has returned, and he wants a second chance–from the townspeople and Cathleen!Having been jilted on her wedding day, Cathleen is furious when Dylan shows up asking for assistance. But that doesn't mean she wants him paying for a crime he didn't commit. So maybe she will help him clear his name.A second chance at love, though? That's out of the question….Or is it?



“I’m not a chef, darlin’, but I’d say you’ve been cooked.”
Dylan smiled. A gentleman would probably retrieve the towel draped on a lounge chair near the hot tub, then turn his back as she slipped it around herself. But both options seemed kind of dull to him. He raised his eyebrows. Dare you.
He faked a yawn. “This is real comfortable. Of course, if you were to offer me a room, that would probably be even more comfy. You said you had just one guest at the moment. Which means you’ve got a few rooms available. Why not put me up?”
“Bastard,” she muttered. Then, even as he was congratulating himself on a hand well played, she added, “I’ve had enough.”
She stood, and took her time getting out of the hot tub and replacing the lid. Her body gleamed. Taut muscles, curved lines, gorgeous legs. She turned from him to reach for her towel. Methodically, she patted off the moisture beaded on her skin—then tossed the towel on the chair again.
“Good night,” she said, her hand on the patio door.
So she was really going to leave him out there, with no transportation back to town.
“About tonight…”
“Yeah?” His confidence surged. After all, she’d once loved him. He’d once been her best friend.
“There’s an extra stall in the barn,” she said. “If you’re desperate, you can have that.”
Dear Reader,
Have you noticed that the most wonderful, magical days come about, not as a result of careful planning and organization, but almost by accident? Serendipity is one of my favorite words. And the perfect example occurred several years ago when my husband and I and my two daughters, along with my husband’s father and his wife, were driving out to Kananaskis to enjoy “Mozart of the Mountain.”
A bad traffic jam had us aborting our plans and heading instead for the small mountain town of Canmore. Within half an hour of turning off the highway, we were in a large yellow raft, drifting along Alberta’s Bow River. The day was warm and bright, we still had our picnic and the scenery, dominated by the Three Sisters Mountain, amazed us all. At the end of that perfect, unplanned day we were left with a memory to treasure forever.
And I had the setting for a trilogy I’d been thinking about. The Shannon sisters have always counted on one another, especially since, like their mother, they seem to be unlucky in love. Three men are set to change all that, with three proposals as unique as the sisters who inspire them. I hope you enjoy A Second-Chance Proposal, A Convenient Proposal and A Lasting Proposal.
Sincerely,
C.J. Carmichael
P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Please send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754—246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta T3H 3C8, Canada. Or send e-mail to: cjcarmichael@home.com

A Second-Chance Proposal
C.J. Carmichael


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to those who assisted me in my research,
in particular Corporal Patrick Webb of the RCMP in Calgary,
Constable Barry Beales of the RCMP Canmore Detachment
and Lynn Martel, a reporter with the Canmore Leader.

DEDICATION
This trilogy is dedicated to my editors,
Beverley Sotolov and Paula Eykelhof,
with my thanks and affection.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
CHILLED CURRENTS of mountain air circled the Larch Lodge bed-and-breakfast and played on Cathleen Shannon’s bare wet shoulders. The cold autumn air only made the luxury of 104-degree bubbling water all the more pleasurable. Fitting her body to the sloped back of the hot tub’s molded seat, she gazed upward. A sky of restless clouds offered teasing glimpses of a fluorescent half-moon.
This is nice. She took a sip of brandy from the plastic glass she’d brought out with her. The outdoor spa had been installed this summer for the benefit of her guests, but she really should make use of it more often herself.
She sighed and sank lower, then suddenly tensed as a shadow shifted in the dark, about twenty meters away. Something, or someone, was out there. But why wasn’t Kip barking? The shape kept moving, coming closer. Oh, why had she turned off all the house lights?
Probably she was worried about nothing. Elk roamed freely over her property. Still, there was the off chance it could be a bear…. She contemplated dashing for the house, but just then, against the backdrop of moonlight, she made out the silhouette of a lanky cowboy. She recognized him immediately from the set of his shoulders and the rhythm of his gait.
Unbelievable.
And there, trotting faithfully by his boots, was her dog. The traitor.
Like a figure in a dream, the cowboy kept advancing. She couldn’t see his eyes—clouds had shifted yet again to cover the moon—but she had no doubt that he watched her every step of the way. Only when he reached the cedar skirting around the tub did he stop.
“Well, well,” she said coolly, hiding her trembling hands under the water. According to his cousin, Jake Hartman, Dylan was supposed to be in Reno, Nevada, the latest stop in his never-ending rodeo circuit. Jake always filled her in on Dylan’s latest adventures, even though she’d let him know she couldn’t care less what her ex-fiancé was up to. Still, when Jake talked, she rarely missed a single word. And she was certain that plans of Dylan McLean’s return to Canmore had never been mentioned.
If they had, she would’ve prepared herself. Over the past two years she’d come up with at least a dozen speeches with which to rake him over the coals. Trouble was, now that he stood just a few feet away, she couldn’t think of a single word, let alone a whole tirade.
He closed in on her, then sat on the decking, folding his arms over the tub’s white plastic ledge. Now she could see his face clearly. His gray eyes sought to engage hers, to coax a smile, but she was in no mood to be charmed. Eventually his gaze skimmed from her face, down her neck, to the line where the water cut across the top of her chest.
“I like your outfit,” he said. “Room in there for one more?”
After two years of silence, you’d think he’d have managed to come up with something a little more profound.
“The hot tub is for lodge guests only. Oh, and family and friends.”
He registered the intended insult with a one-sided twist of his mouth. “I see. And I’m neither. Is that it?”
She said nothing.
“Look, Cathleen.” He sighed and tipped back his hat a fraction. “Things ended badly between us, but you know it wasn’t what I wanted. If I’d had a choice…” He reached for her shoulder, and she pulled away instinctively.
“Hell, Cathleen. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Okay.” Dylan shifted back on his heels. “You’ve got a right to be angry. But you received the letter, right? Jake said he put it directly in your hands.”
“Yeah, Dylan. Thanks a lot for going to the trouble.”
She pictured herself two years ago, standing at the open screen door of this very house, staring off into space. Her white dress flowed down to her sandaled feet. Her long, normally rather wild dark hair coiled in luxurious curls down her back. Two bouquets of orchids—one larger than the other—lay at the ready on the kitchen table.
She held an envelope in her hand. With her name on the front, penned in Dylan’s distinctive bold script. Out in the distance, the dust from Jake’s truck still hovered like a patch of white fog in the lane.
She hadn’t needed to tear open the flap and read the single sheet of paper within to know there would be no wedding that day.
“I guess you didn’t think your note ought to be supplemented by something as personal as a visit or a phone call.”
He winced. “I was afraid you might talk me out of my decision. But you’ve got to admit the situation was impossible. There was no way we could’ve gotten married as we’d planned.”
She’d admit nothing of the kind. But she didn’t argue with him. If he’d cared what she thought, he would have talked this over with her two years ago.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with the aftermath—telling the guests, canceling the minister and the caterer…”
Actually, her sisters had handled those details for her, but she didn’t want to give him the comfort of knowing that. Besides, the logistics of the wedding arrangements had been the least of her heartaches back then. She held out her arms, skimming the bubbles that frothed on the water’s surface. It still bothered her how much his desertion had hurt. She saw it as a sign of weakness in herself, and weakness was something she could not tolerate.
“What did you do with the ring?” Dylan was staring at her hands, naked of jewelry of any type.
“I sold it,” she told him, improvising. “Just like I sold the wedding dress. Advertising them both in the Canmore Leader. I used the money to finance the renovations to this place.”
“Yeah, Jake told me you opened in the spring of last year. He says—” Dylan leaned back and stretched out his legs “—Jake says you’ve dated a little.”
“A little,” she agreed amicably. Actually, the tally was close to a dozen men in two years. An active social life had seemed the best way to prove to the town, her sisters and even herself that her botched wedding hadn’t been such a big deal.
Dylan rubbed his chin. “So who’s the current favorite?”
She hated the fact that he made them sound like jelly-bean flavors. “Actually, I’ve been seeing two guys lately. Friday, Thad Springer and I went to a movie in Banff.”
“Springer? You mean RCMP Staff Sergeant Springer?”
“I sure do.”
“Jesus, Cathleen…” He took a second to digest that, before asking, “And the other?”
“James Strongman.”
If she’d surprised him with Thad, she shocked him with James.
“I don’t believe this. You’re kidding me, right?”
“I assure you, I’m totally serious.”
“Of all the men in Canmore…you wouldn’t date my stepbrother….”
“Why is that, Dylan? Because you never got along with the man? Because you hate his father? Those are your issues, not mine.” Although she had put off James for more than a year simply because of his ties to Dylan. But James had been persistent. And still was. On their last date he’d made it clear he hoped for a more exclusive relationship with her.
“You’ll think I’m just being jealous, but you should stay away from that man. You can’t trust him.”
“You mean if he asked me to marry him—which I think he just might do—he’d back out the day of the ceremony?”
“You know I had no choice….”
Liar! He’d had a choice. And he’d made it without even considering that she might have an opinion on the matter.
“Just for the record,” he volunteered, “there’s been no one in my life—no one—since you.”
Ah. She turned her head and blinked. For a moment she wondered if he was telling the truth, then she reminded herself that it simply didn’t matter.
“I don’t know why you think I’d be interested in the sorry state of your love life. Dylan, this whole conversation is pointless. Why don’t you just go back to wherever you came from?”
“I can’t. Jake gave me a ride and now he’s gone.”
She hadn’t heard a thing over the sound of the hot-tub motor and jets. “Well, that was a really stupid thing to do.”
“I kind of specialize in really stupid things.”
Even if that was genuine regret on his face, it couldn’t make any difference. Being sorry didn’t change a damn thing.
“Oh hell, Dylan. What’re you really doing here?”
He removed his cowboy hat. “I was back in Canmore. How could I not come to see you? Like you said, I owed you an apology. In person.”
“So you’re looking for forgiveness. Is that it?”
“Now that you mention it, do you think you ever could?”
“Dylan, I consider myself lucky that our wedding never took place. If that’s forgiveness enough for you, then you’re welcome to it. So why don’t you let yourself into the kitchen and phone Jake to come and pick you up.”
Dylan frowned, then slipped a pack she hadn’t noticed off his shoulders. He set the canvas bag on the deck and balanced his hat casually on top of it. “I can’t call Jake. He’s on his way to Calgary. Flies out tomorrow morning for a three-week tour of Australia while his town house is being remodeled. Paint, carpets, the works. I’d stay there, but the furniture’s in storage, and the fumes are something awful.”
Wasn’t that convenient timing? But his story was probably true. She’d known for some time that Jake had planned a trip for this summer. And on the last occasion she’d run into him, he’d been standing in front of the display of paint chips at the local hardware store, contemplating the subtle difference in tone between “tumbleweed” and “flax.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Canmore is a tourist town. There are plenty of motels and other bed-and-breakfasts.”
“Yeah, but somehow none of them seemed to have a room available once I gave them my name.”
So the old rumors hadn’t died. It was all such nonsense she couldn’t believe it.
“And this is my problem because…?” She reached for the controls to the hot-tub jets, but was stymied when Dylan laid his hand over hers. She hated how familiar his touch was, right down to the rough cowboy calluses. This time it took her several seconds before she jerked away.
“I told you—”
“Oh, yeah. No touching. I’m sorry, but it’s hard. You’re still so beautiful. Even more than I remembered.”
She resented the compliment as much as his touch. Whatever was going on just didn’t add up…
Then suddenly she understood. He wasn’t really here to apologize. He’d come expecting he could turn on the old charm and she’d crumple at his feet. He’d end up with a place to stay and a woman in his bed.
“Well, I wish I could say the same for you,” she said. “What happened to your forehead? And your shoulder?” The scar was new, one she’d noticed when he raked back his thick dark hair with his hands. As for his shoulder, he held it stiffly when he walked.
Dylan acknowledged his injuries with a shrug.
“You idiot. Do you think you could’ve found a more dangerous rodeo event than bull riding?”
“Hey, I wore off a lot of anger on those babies. And won a good pile of money at the same time. Figured I could pay down the rest of your mortgage.”
She refused to see anything sweet or honorable in the offer. “So now you’re trying to buy me off. As if I would touch your money.”
He’d put up most of the down payment on the house, which they’d registered in her name for legal and tax reasons. In his note, he’d told her to keep it, sell it, whatever she wanted. Covering the mortgage payments while financing the renovations had been a struggle, but selling the house hadn’t been an option she could bear. Even though she would have loved to throw his portion of the down payment in his face. Of course, his face hadn’t been around for her to throw anything at.
“I don’t need your money, Dylan. This place pays for itself.”
“I heard you’ve been busy. Anyone staying with you right now?”
“Just one guest at the moment.” But once the snow fell and skiing season started, she’d be full again, as she had been all summer.
Dylan put a hand on his pack. “Which means you’ve got a few rooms available.”
She should have seen that one coming. Folding her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes at him. “The answer is no.”
“Cathleen, you’re hurting my feelings.”
“We’ve already established your feelings don’t run much deeper than the bark on a birch tree.”
He adjusted the position of his hat, balancing it carefully on the top of the canvas pack. “Well, you’re probably right about that. Fortunately, yours don’t, either. Got rid of the dress and the ring—wasn’t that what you said?”
“Damn right.”
“Well, then. Why not put me up? I’ll pay for one month up front.”
“A month!”
“At least. I’ve got a little unfinished business here in Canmore.”
“Like what?”
“Family business. Old scores to settle.”
“What are you talking about?”
He propped an elbow against the hot-tub edge and made himself comfortable. “You know as well as I do. I haven’t been able to forget about that poor kid.”
Jilly Beckett. The memory of the teenager shot down in cold blood on the McLean ranch made Cathleen shiver, despite the heated water surrounding her. “The family had a memorial for her a year after it happened, Dylan. I went. For a sixteen-year-old, she was pretty accomplished.”
“She would’ve turned eighteen this year. She’d be starting university….”
“They never did arrest anyone.” There simply wasn’t enough evidence. Not that lack of proof had stopped people from drawing their own conclusions.
“Cathleen, did you ever think I—”
She shook her head. Like so many things, it was too late for him to ask that question.
Pain pinched his features. “For the record, I didn’t.”
“Don’t you think I know that? God, Dylan, you’re so dense sometimes.”
He turned his head, facing out into the dark. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Above their heads a cloud drifted by and the moon washed the deck in light. Dylan faced her again. “If I’m innocent, that means the real killer is out there. And you know what’s really scary?”
She was almost afraid to ask. “What?”
“He’s living with my mother.”

“YOU THINK your stepfather shot Jilly Beckett?” Cathleen asked.
“I do.” He glanced at her, then forced his gaze back out into the night. It was impossible to forget, for even one minute, that she was naked in the hot tub. Not that he could see much—beyond the dark outline of her breasts. But just knowing was enough.
He’d come here with the faintest of hopes and almost no expectations, never guessing the gods would choose to mock him in this way. He had a need, like a deep thirst, to drink in the sight of her. Still, he’d noticed she got restless and uncomfortable if he looked at her for too long.
“When did you arrive at this conclusion?”
“It took me longer than it should’ve,” he admitted. “I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.” That he’d lost the love of his life. That he’d probably be an old man before he was finally able to ranch his own land again. That his own mother thought he was a vicious murderer…
But last month he’d been hospitalized—first serious injury since he’d started rodeo life—and the downtime had given him plenty of opportunity for reflection.
“Assuming you’re right, what can you do about it?”
“I don’t know. But my mother is living with this creep. I’ve got to come up with something.” A conclusion confirmed by his recent conversation with Jake. He wondered if Cathleen had the same concerns. “Have you seen Rose lately?”
“No. After our wedding was canceled, dropping in for coffee seemed inappropriate. How about you? Have you kept in touch?”
He heard the recrimination in her voice, as if she expected the answer to be no. But he’d tried. “Mom didn’t answer any of my letters or accept my calls.” He rubbed a dirty spot on the knee of his jeans and wondered if he dared ask. What the hell, she could only say no.
“I plan on dropping in on her tomorrow. I don’t expect she’ll be thrilled to see me, but if you were there, too, she probably wouldn’t slam the door in my face.”
Cathleen had always been a favorite of his mother’s. When they’d announced their engagement, Rose had said she was glad because she’d thought of Cathleen as a daughter for many years already.
“I heard she was ill and not accepting visitors at all.”
“Yeah. Jake said as much, too.” And he didn’t know what to make of it. His mother had always been a little shy, but she’d been friendly and hospitable once she got to know a person.
“Chances are that even if we drop by, she won’t let us in.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
She examined his face, then nodded. “I suppose it’s worth a try. It would be good for her to see you.”
He stirred the chlorinated water with one hand. “You know Mom isn’t the only reason I came back to Canmore.”
“You’re talking about your ranch, I suppose.”
Actually, he’d been talking about her.
“Lots has changed at the Thunder Bar M,” she told him. “The ranch isn’t even being operated anymore. Your mom and Max have moved into town.”
“Yeah—Jake told me. He said Max hired some kind of caretaker to look after the place. Do you know who it is?”
“Danny Mizzoni. He’s living in the main house, with his wife and two kids.”
Dylan swore. “That drug-head?” The man had been convicted of selling narcotics to thirteen-year-olds at the local junior high. “Wasn’t he in jail when I left town?”
“Danny was paroled a year after we were engaged. And Max was reelected mayor of Canmore, on a pro-development platform.”
Canmore, just fifteen minutes from Banff National Park, had always been a battleground between those who wanted to capitalize on the town’s proximity to the famous park and those concerned about preserving the natural beauty and wildlife habitat of the surrounding area.
“Pro-development. Well, that figures.” Lots had changed, all right, and it made him tired. Mentally, as well as physically. A good night’s sleep was what he needed. Trouble was, he didn’t have a bed for the night. Not yet, anyway.
He noticed how flushed Cathleen’s face was getting. As she allowed her feet to float up and out of the water, he could see that even her toes had turned red.
“I’m not a chef, darlin’, but I’d say you’ve been cooked.”
“I usually limit myself to twenty minutes. You’ve kept me in here almost double that, I’d guess. Why don’t you go into the kitchen for a drink. I’ll join you in a minute.”
He smiled. A gentleman would probably do just as she’d asked, or, at a minimum, retrieve the towel draped on a nearby lounge chair, then turn his back as she slipped it around herself.
But both options seemed kind of dull to him. He glanced from the towel back to her, then raised his eyebrows. Without a word spoken, it was out there. Dare you.
She glared at him.
He faked a yawn. “This is real comfortable. I could sit here all night.”
“Oh, really?”
“Of course, if you were to offer me a room, that would probably be even more comfy.”
“Bastard,” she muttered. Then, even as he was congratulating himself on a hand well played, she added, “I’ve had enough.”
She stood, and took her time climbing out of the tub and replacing the lid.
Her body gleamed. Taut muscles, curved lines, gorgeous legs. In the moonlight her skin was honey-brown—except for the creamy places protected from the summer sun by her bikini.
She turned away from him to reach for her towel. Methodically she patted off the moisture beaded on her skin—then tossed the towel back onto the chair.
Completely naked, completely beautiful, she strolled to the patio doors, then turned back casually. The coldness in her eyes slapped down his libido as effectively as a pail of cold water over the head.
She hated him. Almost immediately he rejected the impression. She was still angry, that was all. She’d get over it.
“Good night,” she said, her hand on the patio door.
So she was really going to do it. Leave him out here, with no method of transportation back to town. He schooled himself for the added insult of having the door locked in his face.
“About tonight…” she said.
“Yeah?” His confidence surged. After all, once she’d loved him. Once he’d been her best friend.
“There’s an extra stall in the barn,” she said. “If you’re desperate, you can have that.”

CHAPTER TWO
CATHLEEN SAT IN THE DARK of her office for several minutes. She had no idea what Dylan would do. Would he walk the eight kilometers back to Canmore? Start banging on her door, demanding a room? Or actually settle down in the barn, as she’d invited him to?
When she heard the sound of water rushing through pipes to the outside tap, she retrieved her towel from the deck, then cautiously made her way through the darkened hallway to the dining room. Through a clump of overgrown lilac bushes, the barn light glowed. Unless Cascade, the horse Dylan had given her as a wedding present, had developed an opposable thumb, he’d decided to take her up on her incredibly generous offer.
In her situation, most women would’ve kicked the bum out, she was certain. Which just showed what a tolerant, kindhearted soul she was.
Upstairs she showered and changed into a nightgown. After brushing her teeth, she was still too wound up for sleep. She needed to talk, which meant calling one of her sisters. Maureen, the eldest, had to get up early to work at her law firm in Calgary. But Kelly was on nights this week. Cathleen went back to the office and dialed the number for the local RCMP detachment.
She caught her youngest sister at her desk. “You won’t believe what just happened. Dylan’s back. He came by about an hour ago.”
“To the B and B?” Kelly sounded indignant. Then she turned suspicious. “He didn’t have the nerve to ask for a room, did he?” After a second of silence she added, “You didn’t let him have one, did you?”
“Not really. I did tell him he could sleep in the stall next to Cascade, though.”
Kelly laughed. “No way.”
“Why not?” From the gleam in his eyes as he’d watched her get out of that hot tub, he’d been in the mood for a roll in the hay. So let him have it.
“Only you would make an offer like that. Not that it isn’t better than what he deserves. What’s the going rate for one of those stalls?”
“For Dylan? It’ll be very steep, trust me.” She propped her bare feet on top of the gray metal filing cabinet next to her desk and slid down in her chair to get comfortable.
Even more than her bedroom, this study was her place. With a desk and bookshelves at one corner, and a sofa facing a fireplace in the center of the room, it made for a cozy retreat when the B and B teemed with guests.
“Truthfully, just knowing he’s out there makes me nervous,” Kelly said.
“I don’t know why.”
“That man broke your heart.”
Cathleen let her feet drop to the floor. “He did not!”
“Right.” Kelly sighed. “You agreed to marry him, but never cared that much.”
“I cared.” It was the most she was prepared to admit. “But Dylan showed his true colors the day he walked out on me. I’m just lucky I found out in time.”
Unlike her mother, who’d married their father and had three kids with him before she’d finally faced the truth.
“There are other reasons to be cautious….”
“Kelly, you know Dylan didn’t kill that girl.”
“Not on purpose—”
“Or any other way.”
“Cathleen, the demonstration was getting out of hand. Tempers were hot. There was probably some pushing and shoving between the oilmen and the environmentalists. The gun could have gone off accidentally….”
“No.” Regardless of their personal differences—which were mammoth—Cathleen knew Dylan was innocent on this score.
“You sound very confident.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Anyone could’ve shot Jilly. You told me so yourself.”
“That’s true, but a number of factors weigh in against Dylan. Everyone knows he hates his stepfather so much he’d have done almost anything to stop him from drilling those wells. And running out of town the way he did sure doesn’t make him appear innocent.”
“Running away was stupid.” And how! “But it isn’t a crime.” Not against the law, anyway.
“No. But it made him look guilty. And it doesn’t help that he had an argument with his mother the night before he left. Did you know Rose sported a black eye the next day? I confess I used to like Dylan. But what kind of man hits his own mother?”
Cathleen hadn’t heard this story before. Probably everyone had thought they were protecting her. Which was ridiculous, because there was no way it was true. “Dylan would never hurt his mother.”
Her sister’s sigh made it clear she was losing patience. “Maybe, maybe not. The point is—”
“Kel, he couldn’t even find a room in town. It’s almost like there’s a conspiracy out there.”
Kelly took a moment to answer. “I’d think you’d be glad. This isn’t just about Jilly. People around here don’t like what he did to you, either.”
Oh, Lord. This was crazy. Yes, Dylan had been a jerk. But she didn’t want him ostracized for life. If people around town needed her to forgive him—which she wasn’t ever going to do, but she could pretend—before they could do the same, then so be it.
“I guess I’ll have to let him stay here, then.”
“Cathleen, that’s crazy, even for you. We’ve lived in Canmore all our lives, and God knows, the people here love you, always have. But if you let Dylan stay at your B and B, they’ll assume you’re trying to protect him. And Jilly Beckett was just sixteen years old….”
“It’s nobody’s business who stays at my place. And I’m the first to acknowledge that Jilly’s death was a tragedy, but Dylan wasn’t responsible.”
“Let’s say you’re right about that. What about the fact that you two were once in love? Won’t it be painful to have him around?”
“Don’t worry, Kelly. I’m over him. Why won’t anyone believe me when I tell them that?” Since when had her love life become a matter of town policy, anyway? It was bad enough that her sisters couldn’t seem to butt out of her business.
After the conversation ended, Cathleen went to the cabinet by the patio doors and poured herself a brandy. She was confused about a lot of things right now, but there were two points on which she had no doubt.
Dylan hadn’t killed Jilly. She would back him on this against all of them—the townspeople, the cops, her sisters…hell, even his own mother.
Their personal relationship, however, was a different matter. If he thought he could flirt and tease his way back into her heart, he’d soon discover he was wrong. His apology tonight hadn’t cut it by half. That man had walked out on her.
And she was going to make him pay.

DYLAN AWOKE COLD, STIFF and bad tempered. Through narrowed eyes he spied his roommate, a sturdy little quarter horse with a spotted coat. At the same moment, she turned her head to the side and focused one dark-lashed brown eye at him.
“Sleep well?” he asked, propping his back against the wooden wall. Pain stabbed through his left shoulder, and he brought up his right hand protectively. In her stall, Cascade snorted.
“Me, neither.” This wasn’t his first time crashing out on a stable floor, but he was definitely getting too old for this—
Plop, plop. Cascade didn’t even blink as she performed her morning purge.
Dylan wrinkled his nose. He’d worked with the smell of horses all his life. But usually he’d had his first coffee of the day before he did so.
He pulled himself upright, then gave Cascade a pat on her flank. “We’ll talk more later,” he promised. He brushed the straw from his jeans and put on a clean shirt from his backpack. Carrying both his hat and his shaving kit, he tugged open the barn door, then strained to close it behind him.
Outside he paused, pulling in lungfuls of the crisp mountain air and scanning the landscape. Cathleen’s property sat on the northern edge of Thunder Valley, tucked in a vee, with the Three Sisters Mountain to the southeast and Mount Lawrence Grassi to the southwest. North lay the Bow River, then the Trans-Canada Highway, which linked Canmore to the bustling city of Calgary, one hour east.
When the property had come on the market more than two years ago, Cathleen had immediately been taken by the possibilities of the house. He’d loved the land it sat on and that it was adjacent to the Thunder Bar M. He’d hoped to one day combine the two properties. But that was a distant dream now.
He rubbed his chin, then headed for the house. Looking up, he wondered which bedroom window belonged to Cathleen. God, the sight of her getting out of that hot tub last night was something he’d never forget. Trust her to have the nerve. They’d pulled some crazy stunts together when they were younger, and Cathleen had never been able to resist a dare. So that much hadn’t changed.
But, as she’d pointed out last night, lots else had. Maybe he should’ve hiked back to Canmore and tried to find someplace else to stay. He had to admit their reunion scene hadn’t gone as well as it could have. He’d kind of hoped she would yell at him and throw a few dishes around the place, then let him pull her into his arms and make it all up to her. But she’d been worse than angry. She’d been cold and aloof. How was he supposed to deal with that?
He stopped at the outdoor tap to brush his teeth and shave—a pain at the best of times, miserable when all you had was cold water. This day wasn’t off to the best of starts. He didn’t like his odds at being offered breakfast, but he’d settle for a good, hot cup of coffee. Hat in hand, he stepped up the painted boards of the porch steps—she’d replaced the former rotting structure—then knocked at the screen.
The wafting scents were tantalizing. Eggs and coffee and something baking.
He tapped on the wooden frame again. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” An elderly woman flipped the latch on the screen door. Her impossibly red curls were tied back with a turquoise scarf that matched her belted pantsuit. She had on bright red lipstick and a generous dash of perfume. “Cathleen said you’d be up any minute. You’re that man who ran out on her the morning of your wedding, aren’t you? Cathleen told me the story.”
He ran a hand over his face, expecting recriminations. None came.
“Sit down, son. I’ll make you some breakfast.”
Dylan scratched the top of his head, slightly bewildered. Why was this woman offering to cook him breakfast? And where was Cathleen?
He sat, though, after tucking his denim shirt into his jeans. It seemed wiser to go with the flow for the moment. No sooner was his butt in a chair than a mug of steaming coffee was set in front of him, along with a muffin and a sectioned grapefruit. He appreciated the coffee. Wasn’t so sure about the muffin. After giving it a prod, he tore off a smidgen and slipped it to Kip. The dog gobbled it as if it were a prime cut of steak.
“Um, thanks. Is Cathleen…?”
“She’s outside doing something with the hot tub. Checking pH levels and adding chlorine, I think. She’ll be right in. Now, how do you like your eggs?”
“Eggs?”
“Breakfast is—”
“The most important meal of the day.”
Sunshine suddenly blazed through the doorway as Cathleen sailed into the room. Just the pleasure of seeing the smile she blasted in his direction was reward enough for this bizarre homecoming of his. For a moment he let himself pretend that the past two years had been a dream. That they were married and that she was smiling because she loved him and was happy to see him.
Cathleen straddled the chair opposite his and rested her chin in her hand. “You two have met each other?”
Dylan glanced at the woman by the stove. “Sure have.”
“Good. Thanks, Poppy,” she added as the woman placed a muffin, grapefruit and coffee in front of Cathleen.
Dylan found the whole scene confusing. Cathleen seemed perfectly content to be waited on by her elderly paying guest. “I’ve never heard of a bed-and-breakfast where the guests served the owners,” he commented.
Cathleen held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “She wakes up before I do, gets behind the stove and then won’t budge.”
“I’m a born cook,” Poppy declared, dropping a pat of butter into a warmed frying pan. “And I need to test my recipes on someone. Besides, I’ve lived on my own for so long it’s wonderful to have people to cook for again.”
“No family?” Dylan asked.
Poppy’s inner glow dimmed. “Not anymore…. Now then,” she said briskly. “Something tells me you’re a sunny-side-up man.” She raised an egg over the frying pan. “Am I right?”
Generally he was a three-cups-of-coffee-and-nothing-else man, but he had to admit all this food smelled pretty damn good. Besides, a good breakfast might help compensate for his sleepless night. Between agonizing over the things he had said—all of them stupid and wrong—and imagining Cathleen alone in her bed, no wonder he hadn’t been able to drop off.
He eyed her in her casual riding gear—jeans and boots and a Western-style shirt—and couldn’t help mentally stripping her down to the outfit she’d worn last night.
She kicked him under the table just above his knee. He choked back a surprised grunt. The damn woman always had been able to read his mind too easily.
“I phoned Kelly last night,” she said.
The sister who worked for the RCMP. He didn’t have to think too hard to figure out what they’d been talking about. “So what did Kelly have to say about the investigation?” he asked.
“Doesn’t sound like there have been any new developments in quite some time.”
Cathleen sipped coffee, and he stared openly. She didn’t share Kelly’s perfect bone structure, or have especially pretty features like Maureen. Still, of the three sisters, she was the one who stood out in a crowd. Was it the model’s wide smile, her confident dark blue eyes, those long, luscious legs…?
“What’s this about?” Poppy asked, jarring him back into the here and now as she slid two perfectly cooked eggs onto a plate, along with slices of toasted multigrain bread.
After a few moments of silence Dylan realized that Cathleen was waiting for him to answer Poppy’s question.
“A couple of years ago there was a showdown on my family’s ranch. My stepfather was having some petroleum company executives over for a barbecue. I’d organized a group of environmentalists for a peaceful demonstration. But events got out of hand. People started yelling and shoving. Then someone lit off a firecracker. It exploded with a burst of light and noise, of course, and the next thing we knew, the daughter of one of the oilmen, Jilly Beckett, had collapsed into her father’s arms. She’d been shot.”
The sixteen-year-old’s stricken face burned against his eyes, as if branded there. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he felt his share of responsibility for leading the protest. Not that he’d had any idea a kid was going to be present.
The person he’d wanted to hurt—though not in a physical sense—had been his stepfather. The bastard had decided to allow several oil wells to be drilled on McLean property; or more precisely, he’d persuaded his wife that she should sign away her mineral rights for this purpose.
Dylan still cursed the day of their wedding. His mother had asked him to participate in the ceremony, but he never would have cooperated if he could’ve guessed the changes Max Strongman and his son, James, would bring to his life.
Even now his throat thickened with the resentments that had piled up over the years, the worst from those few weeks before his scheduled wedding to Cathleen. Was he wrong to blame Rose for allowing her new husband so much control over land that had belonged to her first husband, Dylan’s father? Dylan had been raised to consider the ranch his birthright, his and his cousin Jake’s. But Max had other ideas.
Oil, and the money he would earn through royalties, had been Strongman’s priority. Dylan could believe it, too, after years of watching his stepfather try to operate the three-thousand-acre ranch. Max had no appreciation for the beauty of the land and no respect for the creatures—either human or animal—who tried to live off it.
“The police never found the gun,” Cathleen said into the quiet. “And no one on the scene saw who shot Jilly.”
“Whether it was planned or not, the firecracker made an effective decoy,” Dylan added.
Poppy paused in between bites of bran muffin. A tangible change had come over her while she’d processed the information. The new wariness in her eyes was one Dylan understood all too well. Being a suspect in a murder case didn’t put him high on anyone’s popularity list.
Cathleen seemed to have picked up on Poppy’s altered mood, too. Typically, she addressed the situation head-on. “Some people assumed Dylan was guilty because he’d organized the demonstration. Plus, his differences with his stepfather were no secret. But no one ever found any evidence.”
She faced Dylan. “And since nothing new has turned up in the past two years, Kelly says she doubts anyone will ever be arrested.”
The look Cathleen was giving him now was almost sympathetic. “Even if Max is guilty, what can you possibly do about it?”
“I have no idea. But I’ve got to help my mother somehow.” He finished off the coffee and gave her a smile that he hoped belied the insecurities that kept him awake at night. “And I’ve got to clear my own reputation, as well. Cathleen, darlin’, I don’t expect you to marry a man with a sullied reputation.”
Poppy’s eyebrows angled upward with alarm. “Marry?”
“Oh, just ignore him.” Cathleen pushed her empty plate away. “He knows there’s no way in hell I’d be stupid enough to give him a second chance.”
Poppy snapped the dishrag, then folded it over the sink. “I’m going to my room to work on my cookbook for a while. Mind if I do up a vegetable pie for lunch, Cathleen? I need to make sure I’ve got the seasonings right….”
“Be my guest.”
Which, of course, she was. Damned strangest arrangement Dylan had ever seen. Not that his arrangement with the lady of the house was much better.
Getting up from the table, he prepared to load his own dishes into the dishwasher. Cathleen made no move to stop him. This was definitely a self-serve establishment.
“Any chance we could go visit my mother later this morning? Afraid I don’t have a vehicle, so we’ll have to use your Jeep. I sold my truck in Reno before I caught the plane to Calgary.”
“I suppose. But I have work to do, too. Don’t expect me to be your personal chauffeur for the duration of your stay.”
“I won’t.” Duration of your stay? Obviously, she was weakening. Now was the time to strike. “About this arrangement in the barn. I think you should know I kept Cascade awake with my snoring last night.”
Cathleen’s smile had a most unattractive edge of self-satisfaction to it. “Really?”
“I was wondering if I could bargain my way up to a box spring and mattress?”
She shrugged. “A few postdated checks ought to do the trick. I’ve got a queen-size bed available, in the southeast-facing room.”
“Great.” He’d get a mountain view, to boot. He had no idea why she’d changed her mind about his staying, but it was an encouraging first step. Right after the dishes, he’d make out a check, for whatever sum she demanded. Then he’d have to start working on a new strategy. One that would see him moving from the guest bed into hers.
It was a nice thought, if a trifle optimistic at the moment.

CHAPTER THREE
DYLAN HATED HIS MOTHER’S new house the moment he saw it. Cathleen held the steering wheel of her Jeep with both hands, even though she’d already turned off the ignition. He supposed she was giving him time to take it all in.
The modern, California-style stucco three-story, with its triple garage and red clay-tile roof, stuck out like a monstrosity. An affront to the neighborhood of rustic, A-framed structures built of natural products like cedar and stone.
“Looks like a bloody movie set. I’m surprised they don’t have fake palm trees lining the drive.” Dylan jumped lightly from the passenger seat, his right hand automatically reaching to his left shoulder, protecting his injury from the jolt.
“Hard to imagine anything more different from your home on the ranch, isn’t it?”
He just shook his head. The large, traditional log house where he’d grown up was practically museum quality. Generations of McLeans had taken loving care of the original structure, preserving architectural integrity during subsequent expansions and modernizing.
Dylan hung back, waiting for Cathleen to precede him along the brick path to the front entrance. A minute or so after she’d rung the doorbell, he leaned over her shoulder and pressed the buzzer impatiently several more times.
“I told you we should have called.”
Cathleen toed her brown riding boot against the edge of a raised planter. The row of small globe cedars planted within looked dry and spindly. That surprised him. His mother was a formidable gardener.
Still no one answered the door. Bored, Dylan opened the mailbox and began sorting through the letters and flyers.
“What are you doing?”
“Just passing time.” Leaning against the stucco wall, he noted the return address on one manila envelope, then replaced the package in the mailbox.
Cathleen stepped back impatiently. “Let’s go. She’s not going to let us in.”
“Not so fast.” Dylan hooked her at the waist, stopping her midstride. “Let me try the door.”
He put a hand to the pewter handle and it immediately swung open. He gave her a wink. “Well?”
“We can’t—”
As he pulled her over the threshold, a white cat made an attempt to dart outside. Dylan caught the feline with one hand, then nudged the door shut with the heel of his boot.
“Mom? I’m home!” His masculine voice was loud and incongruous in the sparse perfection of the two-story foyer. Archways led on either side to a living room and den. Ahead, polished wooden stairs coiled to the upper rooms.
He began to worry. Were the rumors right? Was his mother too ill to get out of bed? From what Cathleen and Jake had said, it didn’t seem likely that she was out.
About to march up the stairs, he paused at the sound of a door closing from one of the upper rooms. The white cat scampered out of Dylan’s arms and bolted around the corner.
Finally, a slender feminine form appeared at the top of the stairs. “Where’s Crystal?”
The white cat reappeared from its hiding place, zooming up the stairs to Rose Strongman’s waiting arms.
“There you are, precious. You scared me. I heard the door and was afraid you’d run outside.”
Rose began to descend the stairs. Dylan felt strange standing there; he wasn’t sure if his mother had even seen him. In a way it was good. Frankly, he needed the moment to gather his composure.
He’d always thought of his mother as delicate. But dressed in a silk housecoat wrapped tightly around a too-narrow waist, Rose Strongman, née McLean, was now fragile to the point of brittleness. She had to have lost fifteen pounds, at least, since he’d seen her last. Her auburn hair had gone gray, and her skin sagged in grooves around her eyes, nose and mouth.
The changes were nothing unusual for a woman in her seventies or eighties. But his mother was fifty-seven.
As she came closer, Dylan saw more. The trembling in her hands, the watery film over her pale blue eyes, the crooked line of lipstick tracing a once-smiling mouth.
His mother had hurt him badly when she’d told him that she held him responsible for Jilly’s death. The night before his and Cathleen’s scheduled wedding she’d said he had no right marrying a wonderful girl like Cathleen and tainting her future with his past. She’d intimated that they’d all be much happier if he just made himself scarce.
Knowing that the source of these opinions was his stepfather, Max, hadn’t helped him deal with the pain of her attack. He just couldn’t understand why she would believe her husband over her own son. Couldn’t she recognize manipulation when she saw it?
Dylan had stored up a lot of resentment toward his mother. Now he forgot all of it and just held out his arms.
“Mom…”
“Dylan?” Rose paused, which was a good thing, because otherwise she might have tumbled down the stairs. She transferred the cat to one arm and clung to the banister with the other. “You’ve come back.”
“I have.” He stood his ground and waited for the slightest sign that she was happy to see him.
“Why? This isn’t your home anymore.”
Dylan dropped his arms to his sides. He should’ve known. “Can’t a son drop in to see his mother? I heard you’ve been under the weather.”
Rose raised her chin. No faulting her posture. “I’m perfectly well.”
Too concerned to bother with tact, he shook his head. “You don’t look it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The words themselves were strident, but they lost their effect when delivered in Rose’s wavering voice.
“Rose, you do seem a little weak,” Cathleen said. “Would you like us to help you back to bed?”
“Of course not. Please stop this. I hate fussing.” She squinted, making Dylan wonder if the moisture he’d seen over her eyes was really early-stage cataracts. “Is that you, Cathleen Shannon? What in the world are you doing here?”
Cathleen eyed him quickly before answering. “I’ve been meaning to drop by for a visit. You don’t get out much anymore. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you since—”
Rose blinked rapidly. “You’re right. I don’t go out anymore. How can I?” She focused on Dylan. “A mother has to take responsibility for how her children turn out.”
A sickening mixture of guilt and anger twisted Dylan’s gut. His mother had become a recluse because of him? Instinctively his hands curled into fists, but there was no one to fight. A good strong left couldn’t touch public opinion.
“Can we just sit down and talk for a minute?” Cathleen suggested.
It was a good idea, but where? Glancing around, he couldn’t see a place to get comfortable. All the rooms looked formal and pristine. “Maybe in the kitchen?”
In the old days, when his father was alive, his family had practically lived around the old oak table that had sat by the window overlooking the east pasture. Following Rose to the back of the house, he wasn’t surprised to see a new wrought-iron set in the showpiece kitchen. The entire room was beyond what he could’ve imagined. Custom cherry cabinetry, beautiful marble countertops and restaurant-quality stainless steel appliances all vied for attention in the large space.
“Please sit down.” A trace of Rose’s old hospitality surfaced as she beckoned them to the thickly cushioned chairs.
“How about I put on the kettle for some tea,” Cathleen offered.
“Good idea,” Dylan said. “Maybe I can find some crackers and cheese to go with that.” His mother was so frail he wondered if she ever ate. She used to have a good appetite, a love of delicious food. He went to the built-in fridge and saw no shortage of supplies. He picked out a nice hunk of Brie.
“No!” his mother said. “That’s for Max. He likes it with a glass of wine after dinner.”
Oh really? Dylan eyed the trash compactor, but Cathleen snatched the cheese from his hands before he dared. She returned the Brie to the fridge and substituted Cheddar.
He pulled himself together. It was only cheese, after all. Crackers were in the pantry next to the fridge. While Cathleen prepared the tea, he sliced the cheddar and placed it on a plate with the Wheat Thins.
His mother was staring out the window, holding the cat, stroking her compulsively. For a second Dylan had the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn’t quite there mentally. And then abruptly, she focused on him, with eyes suddenly bright and alert.
“Why’d you come back, Dylan?”
“Cathleen asked me the same question last night. I’m beginning to think no one wants me.”
“Really? You’re so sensitive,” Cathleen muttered.
“It was safer when you were gone,” Rose added.
“They aren’t going to arrest me, Mom,” he said, then realized that wasn’t what she’d meant. “For Max, you mean?”
During his extended stay at the hospital in Reno, it had occurred to him that his departure from Canmore had been very convenient for Max. With Dylan gone, Max had full control. Of the ranch, the money…and Rose.
His mother’s expression started to turn blank again, as if she’d decided to opt out of the conversation. Cathleen reached for the woman’s pale hand and changed the subject. She brought Rose up-to-date with news about former neighbors, then the results of a recent fund-raiser given by the horticultural society.
Gradually, Rose began to relax. A couple of times she even smiled. How could she not, with Cathleen’s outrageous stories? Dylan wondered if she was just making them up, then decided it didn’t really matter. Just hearing her talk was enough. For his mother, anyway.
Him, he wanted more. But given Cathleen’s frosty attitude, it was hard to believe that there had once been a time when she’d returned his smiles and welcomed his touches. Now those days felt as distant as something he’d read about in a book or seen in a movie.
Cathleen had poured his tea black and strong, just the way he liked it. He took a sip, then focused on his mother. Cathleen was chatting on about an editorial she must have read in the local paper that week. There was a spark of pleasure in Rose’s eyes as she listened. Dylan wondered what else brightened his mother’s days. Her cat, obviously. But were there any people she still connected with? Friends from the old days?
Not likely, since she didn’t seem to have heard any of the news Cathleen was telling her.
Rose took a sip of her tea and nodded at something Cathleen said. Gradually, she let her gaze slide over to her son. Seeing the resulting frown didn’t make him feel very good.
He couldn’t stop himself from bringing up the subject again. “You know I didn’t hurt Jilly, don’t you, Mom?”
For a moment he caught a glimpse of something soft and warm. The woman who had read him stories and baked him cookies and kissed his scraped knees was still inside there. But almost as soon as the softening happened, it disappeared. His mother’s gaze became vague again, and her mouth tightened with anxiety.
“You shouldn’t have caused trouble for Max,” she said. “If only you could have left well enough alone.”
“Max is the one causing the problems. Dad would never have allowed those wells to be drilled on the Bar M.”
“Your father isn’t here anymore.”
No. He sure as hell wasn’t. “What’s going on with the ranch?”
She shook her head.
“I heard you hired Danny Mizzoni to look after it.”
“The mayor of Canmore ought to live in town,” Rose said weakly.
Cathleen’s glance showed the same concern he felt. His mother was talking like a robot. And he sure as hell knew who’d programmed her.
“The ranch isn’t even being operated anymore, is it?” Dylan tried not to sound bitter, but the news he’d heard from both Jake and Cathleen sickened him to the core. Apparently the herd had been sold, as well as most of the equipment.
“It’s for the best.”
He ignored Cathleen’s restraining hand on his arm. “I’d like to know what Dad—”
“Your father is dead. Max is the head of this family now.”
She couldn’t have said anything that would have infuriated him more. “Max has nothing to do with me. And he doesn’t have any business making decisions that concern my land.”
“It’s not your land, Dylan.”
“I’m a McLean, aren’t I? You know Dad meant for me and Jake to own the ranch one day.”
Rose tightened her lips. “When I heard about Jilly, I redid my will. After I die, everything goes to Max. And when he dies, it passes on to James.”
Dylan heard Cathleen gasp. “You can’t mean that…” He sputtered and grabbed tight to the hand that had just reached out to him. Cathleen’s hand.
“Mother, that land means everything to me. If you want to give half to the Strongmans and the rest to me and Jake, I’m willing to talk about that. But you can’t cut us out completely.”
It couldn’t be legal, could it? If only his father had bequeathed the land directly to him! But his dad’s simple will had left everything to his wife, on the understanding that she would pass the land on to Dylan and Jake when it was her turn to go. It had sounded simple enough when his father had sat the three of them around the kitchen table to discuss it. Of course his father could never have anticipated Max Strongman entering their lives.
“I need to have that ranch,” he told his mother now. “It’s my birthright.”
His mother truly seemed torn. “Why did you hurt that girl?” she asked sadly.
He’d told her once. He wouldn’t say it again.
But Cathleen didn’t have the same scruples. “In your heart, Rose, you have to know Dylan didn’t harm Jilly. He could never do such a thing.”
Hearing Cathleen defend him, Dylan felt a weird, fluttering sensation in his gut. She sounded so sincere, so heartfelt. Did she really trust him that much?
Rose’s mouth trembled. “You forget that Max was present that day. He saw it all. Out of respect for me, he didn’t tell the RCMP. But he saw Dylan shoot that girl—”
“He did not!” The dirty lying bastard… Dylan shot up from his chair, spilling some of his tea. Rose cowered, as if she expected him to strike her. But why? Unless she’d become conditioned to react that way to an angry man.
“Max wouldn’t lie to me,” Rose said softly.
Dylan held his hands close to his body and spoke gently. “I’m not the one who hits you, Mom. And I’m not the one lying to you. One day, I hope you believe me.”

DYLAN DIDN’T TALK on the way back to the B and B and Cathleen understood. She drove with the window down, her elbow propped on the ledge. Sometimes a brisk cleansing wind was the most you could ask for in a day.
At Larch Lodge, Poppy had lunch waiting. Cathleen didn’t have the heart to admit she had no appetite. Since the table was set for three, Dylan sat, too.
Cathleen pressed her fork into the quiche, then tried her first bite, aware that Poppy was eyeing her anxiously. The crust was buttery and light; the chopped carrots, onions, potatoes and celery, moist and curry flavored.
“Perfect,” Cathleen said, and Dylan concurred.
Poppy smiled. She sat and watched them eat for almost a minute, without taking a taste. Finally, she sighed.
“You say it’s good, but you don’t seem to be enjoying it.”
“It’s not the food, Poppy.” Cathleen laid down her fork. “It’s Dylan’s mother. Our visit didn’t go well.”
“Oh?”
“She’s obviously not healthy. She’s way too thin and…high-strung.”
“But she was pleased to see her son?”
Dylan, too, set down his fork. Murmuring an apology, he stalked off to the porch.
Cathleen raised her eyebrows at Poppy.
“I guess that answers my question. How sad. Family belong together.”
“Not always,” Cathleen replied, thinking of her no-account father. “In this case, though, I agree. Rose could use her son’s support, but Max has poisoned her mind against him. He’s convinced her that Dylan shot Jilly.”
“I see.” Poppy’s forehead collapsed into wrinkles, a sign, Cathleen had learned, of warring emotions. The older woman shook her head, then came to a conclusion.
“Kelly called this morning,” she said. “When she heard you were out with Dylan she became very perturbed, and I must admit she convinced me that you need to be very careful. Are you certain you can discount Rose’s opinion of Dylan so easily? While I’d be the first to admit that mothers don’t always know their children as well as they think they do, they usually have a fundamental understanding of their character. If she thinks Dylan could have shot Jilly…”
“Only because of her husband. Max Strongman is very domineering.” After today, she was almost positive he was abusive, as well. He’d been physical with Dylan, she knew, back in the early days when the two had lived under one roof. But she’d never guessed he might be hurting his own wife.
“Well, Kelly seems to think—”
“Poppy—” Cathleen held up her hand “—I love my sister dearly, but she’s a worrier. What does she think is going to happen? That Dylan will murder me in the middle of the night?”
Poor Poppy quaked a little at that comment. “Oh dear, I hope not. Perhaps locks on the bedroom door wouldn’t be a bad idea. But truly, I think her main concern is for your…for your heart.”
She’d spoken her last words tentatively, as if she sensed that Cathleen might object to this, most of all. Which only proved how well Poppy was getting to know her.
“Poppy, do I look like a fool? My heart is perfectly safe.”
“He’s a good-looking man. And a charismatic one.”
“On the surface, yes,” Cathleen agreed. “But my mother taught me that it’s what men do, not say, that counts. My father is the perfect example. He always said he loved my mother, but every time she had a baby he ran out on her, only to return several months later. Two times Mom let him get away with this. Then, finally, when she was pregnant with Kelly, she told him that if he took off again, he shouldn’t bother coming back.”
“And he left?”
“You bet.”
“That must have been very hard for your mother.”
“Her mistake was not kicking him out the first time.”
Back came those wrinkles. “You and Kelly wouldn’t have been born, then.”
Cathleen had to concede that point. “I guess we were lucky our mother had a soft streak. With apologies to any unborn children out there, I don’t agree.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh? People make mistakes. It’s part of the human condition.”
“Depends what you call a mistake. Coming home late, forgetting a birthday—those are mistakes. Running out on a mother and her newborn baby…” Not showing up for your own wedding… “Well, that seems like more than a mistake to me.”
The hesitation in Poppy’s smile told Cathleen she hadn’t quite convinced the older woman of her philosophy.
“Listen, Poppy. I’m going to see how Dylan’s doing. Will you leave the dishes for me to do later?”
Cathleen pushed through the screen door and found Dylan in one of her willow chairs, Kip at his feet. Slouched back, with his hat covering his face, he made the perfect picture of ease, but she knew better. Briefly, she rested a hand on his good shoulder, and found the muscles as tense as she’d expected. She went to the stairs and sat with her back against the railing, facing him.
All morning she’d been fighting the way the man drew her in. Each time their glances connected, her chest tightened in an oh-so-familiar—and oh-so-dangerous—way. The emotion—the intensity and hopelessness of it—reminded her of her high school years. Dylan was three years her senior and hadn’t deigned to notice her until she’d turned eighteen. When he’d finally woken up and taken stock of the middle Shannon girl all the boys were talking about, they’d quickly become friends. She’d been too young for their relationship to be more than that, and he’d understood.
She’d enjoyed dating boys her own age, playing the field. Her mother had warned all three of her daughters not to make the mistake of marrying too young. And Dylan had been content to wait.
On her twenty-sixth birthday, everything had changed. Dylan didn’t want to wait anymore, and neither did she. All along, she’d known he was the one. And at last the time was right.
That was when their relationship had taken on such passionate intensity that she’d realized just how inconsequential all her previous romantic entanglements had been. Two years later they’d become engaged.
Inseparable.
Until he took off the morning of their wedding.
Slowly, Dylan’s right hand rose. He lifted his hat and settled it back on his head, then gazed off toward the mountains that dominated the southern boundary of her property. The peaks were old friends to Cathleen, and she knew they offered the same sense of timeless serenity to him.
Dylan took a chest-expanding breath. “He’s hitting her.”
The stark, simple statement pierced the afternoon quiet. “I know. I saw some bruises on her leg when her housecoat shifted.” They’d been the multicolored kind, ugly and raw-looking. At the time, Cathleen hadn’t been sure what could have caused such an injury. Now she was.
“I wanted to pick her up and carry her out of that house,” Dylan said.
“That wouldn’t work. Rose has to want to leave.”
“I know.”
“When did the abuse start, do you think?”
Dylan frowned. “I was sixteen when they married and I left home at eighteen. During those years I was so busy fighting with Max I didn’t pay much attention to how he was getting along with my mother. She always backed him whenever we had a disagreement, so I guess I assumed she was happy in her marriage. I’m almost positive he wasn’t hurting her then.”
Dylan had told her about those days before, but he’d glossed over the bad parts. “Why do you think Max disliked you so much?”
“I used to ask myself that question all the time. He’d criticize everything about me, from the way I rode a horse to the way I fed the cattle… Finally, I realized there was just no winning with him. Once I gave up caring, it didn’t seem to matter so much anymore.
“And that’s when I started feeling more sorry for James than I did for myself. Max didn’t fight with his own son the way he did me, but he was always belittling and caustic, which in a way must’ve been worse. Especially since James tried so hard to please the son of a gun.”
Cathleen knew the situation had been bad enough that after grade twelve graduation, Dylan had been more than ready to move out and rent a place of his own. At first his plan had been to keep working at the Thunder Bar M, but the fighting between him and Max had made that impossible. Eventually he’d been forced to accept a foreman position on a property about fifty kilometers closer to Calgary.
“Max has always been domineering,” Cathleen said, remembering the few social occasions when she and Dylan had been invited to dine at the ranch. “But your mother seemed to take his demanding ways in stride.”
“I guess she was used to having a strong husband. She and Dad had a traditional marriage. When it came to ranch business, his word was law in our house. But he really loved her, and at heart had a real gentleness. Max, unfortunately, hasn’t got a soft side. At least not that I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s been a controversial mayor, but he has his loyal supporters.”
“Yeah, I bet he does. People with an eye on profits rather than the future of the land.” Dylan planted the heels of his cowboy boots into the planks of the porch and started his chair rocking. “But you raise a good point. With Max’s stature in this town, I’m going to have a hell of a time convincing the law that he was responsible for Jilly’s death.”
“I know you hate him, and I know you have your reasons. But how can you be so sure that he was the one who shot her?”
Dylan laughed bitterly. “I’ve had two years to mull this over. Ask yourself two questions. Who benefited when that demonstration broke up? And who had the most to gain by framing me for the crime?”
“I know Max had his motives. And I admit he’s a bully capable of violence. But would he really stoop to murder? I think we need to find out more about him. His past, before he married your mother.”
“Darlin’, I couldn’t agree more.”
Cathleen thought a moment. “Maureen might be able to help.” Her elder sister, recently widowed, was going through a bad patch right now, but as a lawyer she’d have the kind of connections they’d need.
Dylan stopped rocking. He leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. “You figure she’d talk to me if I phoned her?”
Maureen, like Kelly, could be very protective. And strong willed. Hanging up on Dylan wouldn’t be beyond her. “Maybe I should call her first.”
“And would you come to Calgary with me?”
Oh Lord. She’d virtually trapped herself into saying yes. “You’ve got to understand this is all about proving what really happened to Jilly.”
“In other words, you’re not just looking for excuses to spend time with me.”
“You wish.”
“Damn right I do.” Dylan’s gray eyes lost their twinkle. “But for now, it’s all about that night in Thunder Valley.”
If only he’d thought this way two years ago! But it was too late now for regrets. “Who else was there, Dylan? You and your cousin Jake. And, of course, Max and his son, and Jilly and her father. Do I know any of the others?”
“You do. Hang on a minute. They published a list in the Leader. I have it in my pack.”
Dylan went into the house and came back with two coffees as well as a sheet of folded paper. “I already added cream,” he said, passing her one of the mugs and then half sitting on the white railing next to her.
“Thanks.” For a disorienting moment, she remembered what it had felt like to be part of a couple who’d been together long enough to be aware of each other’s tastes and preferences. She knew, for instance, that Dylan’s coffee was black. Without checking, she could’ve identified the label on his jeans, his shirt, his cowboy hat…
“I could read you the names, but you might as well look this over yourself.” He handed her the fragile, yellowed paper. She unfolded it once, twice, then ran an eye down the typed names. Heading the list was Max Strongman, followed by his son, James.
“Max was entertaining some of the oil company officials that afternoon, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, at a big Western-style barbecue. Conrad Beckett and his daughter were there, as well as several other executives from Beckett Oil and Gas.” Dylan pointed to their names, then trailed his finger down the list. “A couple of bankers and a representative from an accounting firm in Calgary.”
“Where was your mother?” Cathleen wondered, not seeing any mention of Rose.
“Inside the kitchen, helping the caterer make salads, stuff like that. When our group showed up, she came outside briefly, but Max ordered her back into the house.”
Cathleen could well imagine. “And the group you’d gotten together…?”
“An ad hoc thing, as you know. Jake was with me, of course, along with a few of his buddies who care pretty deeply about protecting the wildlife corridor along the Bow River. I also had some ranchers organized….”
She knew, or had heard of, most of these people. One name stood out. “Mick Mizzoni was there, too?”
“Yeah. I thought he might give us some favorable coverage in the Leader. Little did I guess just how big the story was going to be.”
Cathleen counted. Thirty-one people. “If only just one of them had been watching the right person at the right time…”
“‘If only’ can be a dangerous game to play. It can make a man crazy, if he lets it.”
She twisted to see his eyes more clearly. Over the years she’d learned to read the moods implicit in their almost infinite shades of gray. She’d seen them twinkle like polished silver when he was happy, or turn as cloudy as nearby Lac des Arc during spring runoff when he was sad. Now their dark hue told her he was serious.
“I suppose you regret going out to the ranch that night.”
“I regret a hell of a lot more than that.” He focused on her. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did, Cathleen. I never wrote, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you. I did. Every day. Almost every second, it felt like sometimes.”
“You apologized last night,” she reminded him, lowering her head to catch a perfect view of the floorboards she’d stained by hand two years ago. She counted the knots rather than focus on how deeply felt Dylan’s words sounded.
“Yeah, but I made a mess of it. I was nervous.”
“You?” Never had she known a man with Dylan’s confidence.
“Hard to imagine, huh?” He stretched out his legs till his boots touched the bottom rung of the stairs. “But it happens to be true. Want to know something else that’s true?”
She shook her head, but he answered, anyway. “I still love you, darlin’. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”
She’d hoped he wouldn’t actually say those words. Hearing them now, she felt only anger. “You don’t know what it means to love a woman, Dylan.”
“I’d like a chance to dispute that.” He leaned in close, and the smell of him brought back such intense memories she almost caved right there and then. Kiss me, Dylan.
She jumped to her feet, not able to trust her own feelings and reactions. Even thinking about kissing Dylan was dangerous. She’d be lost if she ever allowed it to happen.
Dylan stood, backing her against the stair railing. “I do love you.”
Cathleen leaned into the wooden support behind her, her heart galloping. “You had the chance to marry me and you chose to walk.”
He put a hand to the side of her head. “I’m sorry.”
She yanked away from his touch, hating how much it affected her. When he was this close it was so hard to think clearly. Strike one, she reminded herself. Playing by her rules, he’d had his opportunity and he’d blown it.
What she needed was distance—it was what they both needed. But Dylan didn’t seem to think so. He took her hand, folding it warmly inside his. “Let’s go for a walk. Just let me be with you for a while.”
With relief, she recalled previously made plans for the evening. “I can’t. I’ve got to get ready to go out.”
In a flash, the gray of his eyes turned dull. “Let me guess. You’ve got a date.” He was quiet for a moment, then he swore. “It’s worse than that, isn’t it? You’re going out with James.”
“Yes.”
She’d known he’d see the outing as a betrayal, and after the day they’d spent together and the bombshell Rose had delivered about the will, she didn’t blame him. Her relationship with James, the man who would eventually own the Thunder Bar M Ranch unless Rose changed her will, had to sting at least a little. Cathleen didn’t want to be cruel, especially when her interest in James was mild at best.
But maybe going out with James, at least this one more time, would give Dylan the message that their love was truly over. And maybe it would give her the same message.

CHAPTER FOUR
CATHLEEN FOUND James Strongman a bit of a puzzle. He’d been blessed with exceptional, classical good looks and a tall, slender frame. He could be pleasant company, and she’d found him a handy companion for parties where guests were expected to be sociable. But on the occasions when just the two of them were out for dinner, he bordered, unfortunately, on the dull side.
In fact, she’d almost come to the conclusion that he was a little slow. One evening he’d voiced a strong, well-reasoned opinion in support of free trade that had impressed her—until she’d read a quote from Max Strongman in the Leader that was almost identical.
So it wasn’t just Dylan’s reappearance in Canmore that had her thinking it was time to put an end to their dates. But she had to admit it was a contributing factor.
Actually telling James about her decision wouldn’t be fun. These things never were. She waited until after their movie in Banff, then invited him home for a drink, which she poured in her study. Dylan was out—he’d asked to borrow her Jeep. In the kitchen, Poppy was experimenting with her favorite fudge recipes.
“I hear Dylan’s back in town,” James commented after she handed him his Scotch and water.
“Yes.” She turned her back to add a piece of birch to the fire she’d started as soon as they’d entered the room.
“And staying here. With you.”
She heard a creak from the leather chair and knew James had stood. Turning, she almost bumped into his chest.
“This is a bed-and-breakfast, James. He’s renting the room next to Poppy’s.”
James ran a hand down the perfectly chiseled plane of his cheek, then across the square angle of his jaw. He was wearing a black turtleneck with black slacks—a sophisticated look out of place in the outdoorsy mountain town of Canmore, where most men considered they were dressing up when they removed their sporting gear in favor of a pair of khakis and a clean shirt.
“I don’t understand how you can have that man under your roof after what he did to you. Not to mention Jilly Beckett.”
Cathleen stared past him into the orange-blue flames of the fire. “Dylan didn’t kill that girl.”
“You don’t believe that.”
When she didn’t answer, James changed tack. “If you do, you’re the only one in town who does. Anyway, there’s still the fact that he left you high and dry on your wedding day.”
“That was years ago. Why does everyone have to make such a big deal out of it?” Cathleen circled to the back of the sofa, where she could face both the fire and her guest. She hadn’t poured herself a drink and was only waiting for him to finish his before delivering her short farewell speech, then showing him the door.
“What about the black eye he gave his mother the night before he left town?”
“You and I both know who really hit Rose that night, don’t we, James?”
Her guest covered his confusion by coughing, but Cathleen saw through the ploy. James probably knew much more than any of them gave him credit for. She wondered how much he’d be willing to share with her.
“Have you heard that Rose cut Dylan from her will?” She’d hoped Rose’s threat had been merely that. But James was quick to confirm the point.
“Wouldn’t you, in her shoes? That land is wasted on ranching. Dylan just doesn’t see the potential that my father and I—”
“Do you mean the oil wells?”
“Not just that. The recreational property market is so hot right now. If that land was subdivided, we could market the mountain and river views in no time flat.”
This was the first Cathleen had heard of any development plans. “You can’t be serious!” Seeing the family ranch chopped into parcels, trees razed, ground stripped by bulldozers, would really kill Dylan.
“We definitely are. We’ve got a firm in Calgary working on the plans. It’s going to be a father-son venture,” he added proudly.
Well, wasn’t that sweet. “You know what, James? I think it’s time you left.”
“What’s wrong?”
Cathleen took the empty glass from his hand. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. We have different priorities in life.”
He blinked. “But we’ve been dating for months. I thought things were going so well. You know, I’m not interested in any woman but you.”
A minute ago, she would’ve sworn all he cared about was dollar signs. Now…hell, was the man sincere? “James, you’ll find someone else.”
“You don’t understand….”
The purring of an approaching engine, accompanied by the sound of gravel crunching under tires, told her Dylan was back. Maybe now James would leave. But if he heard the vehicle, if he guessed who it might be, he didn’t seem concerned. She sensed him regrouping as he handed over his glass.
“How about one more Scotch, Cathleen? Let’s talk this over.”
“You really shouldn’t have another drink. Not when you’re driving. Besides, there’s nothing for us to talk about. I’ve made up my mind.”
“A coffee, then?”
“Why postpone the inevitable? It would be better if you just went home.”
“But I can’t do that! I’m sorry I complained about Dylan. Let’s just keep seeing each other. We were getting along fine before he showed up.”
Was there a tactful way to tell a man that he would never inspire love and longing the way another had once done? She didn’t think so.
“You want children, don’t you?”
“Children? James—”
“Well, so do I. I bet we’d have beautiful children, Cathleen.”
He held out his hand and she avoided his touch by going to pour that second Scotch, taking care to make it mostly water.
“This property of yours—of course you know it butts up to the far corner of the McLean ranch. Can you imagine how rich we’d be if we developed all along this stretch of Thunder Creek?”
Cathleen’s sympathy for the man vanished with a flash of insight. Her land. That was why he’d been so adamant about dating her. Probably his father had masterminded this romance. She felt a fool for not having caught on sooner.
About to tell James to take a jump in the aforementioned creek, she was stopped by a voice from the doorway.
“I see you’re a real long-term planner, James.” It was Dylan, hand propped against the door frame, one booted foot hooked around the other.
James swiveled and his hand jerked, spilling Scotch onto the Turkish rug at his feet. “Damn it, Dylan! Where did you come from?”
“Never mind about me. I want to know what was going on here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounded like you were leading up to asking my fiancée if she wanted to marry you!”
Cathleen gasped. Her blood came to an instant boil. All the anger she’d been reining in since Dylan had dropped back into her life surfaced in one hot, intense flood of emotion.
“Don’t call me your fiancée.”
“But, darlin’…”
“And stop calling me darling!” She grabbed a pillow from the sofa and squeezed tight, then whirled on James, who was telling Dylan that he couldn’t come back after two years and expect to have any rights to the woman he’d left at the altar.
“Am I an oil well now? No man has rights to me! And certainly not you two!”
James’s veneer-thin confidence cracked under attack. “Ca-Cathleen?” He backed himself against a wall, and somehow, his capitulation only made her more furious.
“As for you.” She whipped around to face Dylan, knowing she was about to completely lose it and powerless to stop herself. “I am sick of your conceited attitude. Who do you think you are, interfering in my private life?”
Dylan backed off a little, but not so much that she missed seeing the beginning of a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth.
That smirk did it. Rage drowned out the last of her resolve. She threw the pillow with all her might, and her anger flared again when he simply reached out with one hand and caught it. She grabbed at a magazine on the coffee table and threw that, too. Then her boots, which she’d kicked off earlier and left lying by the desk.
Dylan dodged each missile, bending this way and that. If he was still smirking, she was too furious to see.
“I am not your fiancée. You ran out on me and never called and never wrote….”
She was beside him now, pushing her fists against his chest. “Do you know how that felt? Waiting day after day—”
“Cath—”
She picked up the pillow again and crushed it to his face, smothering his words. “Oh, shut up. You were laughing all the time, weren’t you? Just another silly prank, cutting out on your wedding day. Then coming back two years later and pretending we were still going to get married. You probably thought I’d be that desperate, didn’t you?”

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