C.J. Carmichael - A Second-Chance Proposal

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.”