C.J. Carmichael - A Second-Chance Proposal

“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.

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.