A Second-Chance Proposal

“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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