A Second-Chance Proposal

“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: [e-mail]

A Second-Chance Proposal

C.J. Carmichael

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.