Читать книгу A Second-Chance Proposal - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

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.