A Second-Chance Proposal

“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.”