by Lisa Jackson
“Then he left to marry Terri Fremont,” she said, feeling an odd sensation that something else in the past wasn’t what she’d thought it was. But that wasn’t much of a surprise, was it? Hadn’t her entire life been a lie?
“I just gave him some extra incentive.” He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t too hard to figure out what was going on between the two of you and it worried me because I knew about the Fremont girl. So . . . I upped the ante a little, offered him a deal and he rose to the bait like a brook trout to a salmon fly.”
“No—”
His lips pursed in frustration. “It was for your own good, Bliss. That’s why I did it. Remember, he already had a baby on the way.”
Bliss rested her hands on the back of the couch. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
“He needed surgery on that arm of his and his kid needed a father.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” she sputtered. Then, seeing the pain in his eyes, she wished she could have taken the words back.
“Is that what you think?”
“Yes,” she admitted, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing that the lies would stop with her. “You fathered two children with women you didn’t marry.”
“And I didn’t want to see anyone, even a snake like Lafferty, make the same mistakes I did.”
“But—”
“No buts, Blissie,” he said, signifying that the conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over. He tilted his head to ensure that his bifocals were in the right position for reading. “Now, what have we got here?”
Bliss couldn’t believe her ears. It was as if her father would use any means possible to get his way. She’d always known he was stubborn and determined, but this side of him was new to her and she wasn’t sure she liked it very much.
“You know, for a man who swears up and down that he’s not interested in selling this place, it’s odd that you can’t put down that offer.” Bliss swatted at a cobweb that floated between the old blinds on the window and the ceiling.
“Just thought I’d see what Lafferty thinks the place is worth.” With practiced eyes he skimmed the printed text and his eyebrows jammed together in concentration. “There’s somethin’ wrong here. The figures don’t add up and . . . What in thunder? Is he out of his mind? This”—he snapped the crisp pages—“this is only for the north half of the property. I thought he wanted the whole place.”
“Didn’t you say that part of the ranch was in Brynnie’s name?”
Every muscle in John’s body tensed. His gaze shot up to hers. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if he wanted the whole ranch, he’d have to deal with her for her part.”
“For the love of—” John scowled, rubbing the edge of the documents against the stubble of his chin and as he squinted, Bliss could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. “Brynnie’s not like your mother, Bliss,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “She wouldn’t expect me to give up what I love.”
“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. And Mom would never—”
“Unless she got herself conned into it.” Her father snapped the leg support of the recliner into place and climbed to his feet. Wadding the offer in his fist, he headed for the den. “I think I’d better call my lawyer.”
“Why?”
“Just to make sure Lafferty doesn’t try to pull a fast one.”
* * *
“Damn it all to hell,” Mason grumbled, stomping on the brakes as his pickup slid to a stop beside the carriage house of an old Victorian home in the center of town. Four stories counting the basement, painted gray and trimmed in white gingerbread with black shutters, the mansion had been divided into separate apartments sometime between the 1920s and now. There were two other units in the old carriage house as well, and for the next few months Mason would call the upper story of that smaller building home.
Climbing out of the cab, he spied Tiffany Santini, the widow who owned the place, clipping a few rosebuds from the garden. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, she was pleasant and pretty, the kind of woman who took to mothering like a duck to water. Mason didn’t know much about her, but he liked the way she dealt with her kids—a teenage boy and a girl of three or four.
He waved and she smiled, hoisting a gloved hand as her little girl chased a black cat through the rhododendrons flanking the back porch.
Mason had decided to rent while he was negotiating for a ranch of his own and had chosen this complex over more modern units because he felt more at home in this charming older place, which had a backyard with a play structure that Dee Dee could use whenever she came over.
He walked up the outside stairs, unlocked the door and stepped into his living room. It was sparsely furnished with only the bare essentials. The hardwood floors were begging for throw rugs and the stark walls could have used more than a splash or two of color. But all that would come later—once he’d moved into a permanent place.
At Cawthorne Acres.
For the first time he wondered if his insisting on buying old John out was wise. True, Brynnie had come to him and he’d jumped at the chance to own a spread he’d fallen in love with as a kid, but now, with the old man’s heart condition and Bliss thrown into the picture, he wasn’t so sure that he’d made the right decision.
What was the old saying? Buy in Haste, Regret at Leisure. That was it. He hoped it didn’t apply in his case.
In the kitchen he tossed his keys on the counter and reached for a glass. Pouring himself a stiff shot of bourbon, he tried to erase Bliss and the complications of dealing with her and her father from his mind. But it didn’t work. Ever since seeing her yesterday afternoon and again this morning, he’d thought of her—even made an excuse to give Cawthorne his offer in person so that he could see her again.
Bliss Cawthorne, all grown up. He remembered her as she had been ten years earlier with honey-blond hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers. She’d been a smart mouth at the time, a big-city girl who was pretty and damned well knew it. A dusting of freckles had bridged her nose and she’d been tanned all over from hours of swimming in the river.
Mason had been working for old man Cawthorne, and although all the other hired hands had warned him that the boss’s daughter was off-limits, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away. Which was where all the trouble had begun and ended.
He tossed back a long swallow of his drink and felt the alcohol burn a welcome path down his throat. Why did he torture himself with thoughts of her? Why couldn’t he think of her as nothing more than a love affair gone sour?
Because you’re a fool, Lafferty. You always have been, where that woman is concerned.
He finished his drink in another gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Ten years. It had been ten years since he’d seen her. A decade of telling himself she meant nothing to him, but then, with one sidelong glance from her innocently seductive eyes, he’d come undone and last night, with the hot breath of a wind blowing the curtains in his room, he hadn’t slept, but had envisioned Bliss’s face as he’d stared through the window at the moon. Now he remembered in vivid detail her expression when she’d answered the door. For a second he’d seen the glimmer of happiness in her eyes but it had been quickly hidden by a facade of anger.
Why the hell did it matter what she thought? She was just one woman, and John Cawthorne’s daughter to boot.
“Idiot,” he growled, contemplating another drink before screwing the cap on the bourbon bottle. He jammed the bottle back into the cupboard and slammed the door. Bliss. Gorgeous, sophisticated and intriguing Bliss Cawthorne. Why hadn’t she married, had a dozen kids and gotten fat? Why did she still attract him after all these years, all these blasted long, lonely years? “Grow up, Lafferty,” he chided. He’d learned long ago not to entrust his heart to a woman. Any woman. Especially Bliss Cawthorne.
Besides, the old man was right. Inadvertently, Mason had nearly killed her years before. And there was more to it than that. He and Cawthorn
e had made a deal. A pact practically signed in Bliss’s blood.
So cancel it, an inner voice suggested and he felt a grim smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He’d always believed in honoring his bargains, but Cawthorne had never played fair. So, technically, the deal was null and void.
Bliss, if she’d have him, was his for the taking.
He had only to figure out if he wanted her and for how long.
Chapter Four
“See that sorrel mare?” John Cawthorne leaned against the top rail of the fence and pointed a gnarled finger at a small herd of horses in the north pasture. The animals grazed lazily, twitching their tails at flies while their ears flicked with each shift of the wind.
“She’s gorgeous.” Bliss watched as the red mare’s nose lifted and her nostrils flared slightly, as if she’d somehow divined that she was the center of attention.
“I want you to have her.”
“What?”
“That’s right. She’s yours.”
“But I live in Seattle, Dad. In a condominium that’s hardly big enough for Oscar and me.” Bliss hazarded a smile. “Trust me, the horse won’t fit”
He chuckled. “I know, I know, but I reckon, now that your mom’s gone, you’ll be spending more time down here with your old man.”
“And my stepmother.” The words still stuck in Bliss’s throat though she was trying, damn it, to accept this new and, she still thought, ludicrous situation.
“And hopefully, your sisters.”
“If—and it’s a pretty big if, Dad—I’m interested and they’re willing to meet me halfway. What’re the chances?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “I just think it’s all worth it. I’d hate for you—or them, for that matter—to miss out on getting to know each other.”
“We might fight like cats and dogs.”
“You might. Then again . . .”
She plucked a piece of clover from a clump near the fence post and twirled the purple bloom in her fingers. “Okay, okay, point well taken. Tell me about them.”
“Well . . .” He stared off across the fields to a distance only he could see. “You know that Tiffany’s older than you. She’s a widow now. Works part-time as a secretary at an insurance agency in town. She’s got a son Stephen—my oldest grandkid, mind you—almost fourteen and hell on wheels, the way everyone in town says. Then there’s that cute button of a daughter of hers who’s around three. My only granddaughter, so far.”
He looked away quickly, as if bothered by the conversation, and Bliss fought back a feeling of having the rug pulled out from under her. She’d always thought that she would be the one to give her parents grandchildren—when the time came. As the years passed and her friends married and started families of their own, she’d heard her own biological clock ticking away.
“After her husband died, Tiffany moved down here to be close to her grandmother—you’ve heard of Octavia—Octavia Nesbitt?”
Bliss nodded. Who hadn’t heard of Bittersweet’s most prominent and flamboyant citizen? Octavia had inherited the Reed estate years before, as she’d been nursemaid and caretaker of Bittersweet’s oldest and most wealthy citizen. When Cranston Reed had died, he’d left his fortune to the widow Nesbitt.
“Well, when Tiffany’s husband, Philip, died a few months back, she packed her kids into a U-Haul truck and drove south from Portland. She moved into an old house her husband had bought about a year back—it’s been cut up into apartments that she rents out for a little extra money.”
Bliss folded her arms over the top rail of the fence and watched spindly-legged colts frolicking beside their docile mothers. “So how is Tiffany with you?”
His eyebrows lifted and he bent down to pluck a long blade of dry grass from the ground. “Not great. In fact, she won’t talk to me.”
No big surprise there. “Do you blame her?”
He rubbed his chin. “Guess not. She didn’t know much about me or that I was even alive for a long, long time.”
“What?” Bliss couldn’t believe her ears, then mentally kicked herself for being so naive. Hadn’t she been hoodwinked all her life? Why not Tiffany, as well?
“Her mother, Rose, finally told her the truth, I guess, but I didn’t try to get in touch with her until a couple of months ago, after your mother passed on.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I tried to call her, you know, to break the ice, but she hung up before I could say anything other than my name.” He placed the piece of grass between his teeth. “Guess she’s a little ticked. As I said, Tiffany’s mother told her that her father was dead, had died before they could get married—and then she did a quick reversal.” He hesitated, his thinning hair ruffling in the breeze. “Since I never showed any interest until recently . . . well, it’s been hard for her.”
“Beyond hard,” Bliss agreed, feeling a tiny pang of pity for the older half-sister she’d never met. “If I were her, I don’t know if I’d ever forgive you.”
He sighed. “You’re having trouble now because I’m marrying Brynnie.”
That much was true, but Bliss didn’t want to think about it. Not now. She hardly dared ask her next question, but decided there was no time like the present. “So what about Brynnie’s daughter. Katie? What does she think?”
“That’s another story,” he admitted. “Katie, too, just found out. Her mother told her a couple of weeks back that she wasn’t Hal Kinkaid’s daughter.”
Bliss froze. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that Brynnie passed Katie off as—”
John lifted a hand. “She had no choice. I went along with it.”
“But—”
“It was probably a mistake.”
“One of many,” Bliss whispered, wondering how deep were the lies that her father had perpetuated over the years. Her head spun with all this new information about a family she hadn’t suspected existed.
“I know.” He seemed suddenly tired and older than his years. “I’ve done a lot of damage. To you. To your mother. To the other women in my life. But I’m going to change all that by marrying Brynnie and claiming Tiffany and Katie as my daughters. If they accept me, I’ll be a happy man. If they don’t, well, I guess I’ll just have to understand.”
As if he could. No one had ever called John Cawthorne understanding. “I wish I could tell you that everything will turn out fine, Dad, but I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“It’s all right.” Her father managed a watery smile. “I’ve given you a lot to think about. Maybe too much. But I’ve decided to finally live up to my responsibilities as well as make the most of the few years I’ve got left.” A hawk circled lazily overhead, its shadow passing over the ground as John brushed an ant from the fence post. “Somehow I’m gonna make peace with my daughters and grandchildren.”
“Are there more than Tiffany’s two kids?” Bliss asked.
He glanced up sharply. “Katie’s got a ten-year-old. Josh.”
“So she’s married?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The guy left her pregnant and she wanted the baby, so she kept him.”
“Does this never end?” she wondered aloud. Both her half-sisters had children and she, who had always thought herself the mothering kind, had none, nor a husband or any prospects of one. Her mind wandered to Mason and she scoffed at herself. If Mason were the last man on earth, she wouldn’t want him to father her child. She knew his true colors. He’d shown them once before and they were ugly and oh, so painful. Even now, ten years later, she still experienced a little burn in her heart when she thought of him and how deeply he had deceived her. Bastard, she thought unkindly, then told herself it didn’t matter. Mason Lafferty was nothing to her.
“Tell me about Brynnie’s other children,” Bliss said, forcing her thoughts from Mason. She rubbed her hand across the top rail and a sliver pricked her finger.
“Three boys. Jarrod, the oldest, and the twins, Trevor and Nathan. Brynnie had her hands full with t
hose three and little Katie, let me tell you.” He grinned slightly as he stared at the mare, and not for the first time in her life Bliss wondered if John Cawthorne missed having sons, a boy to carry on his name. He nodded toward the mare. “You’ll like riding Fire Cracker.”
“Fire Cracker?” She plucked at the sliver with the fingernails of her other hand and heard a train rattling on far-off tracks.
Her father laughed. “Fire Cracker looks docile enough now, I suppose, but she’s got a little bit of the devil in her.” He slid his daughter a kind glance. “Like someone else I know.”
Bliss rolled her eyes. “That was high school, Dad. I’m pure as the driven snow these days.”
“Not if you’re any daughter of mine,” he said and slapped the top of the fence. “I’d better go see about the tractor. Seems to have a problem with the clutch.”
“Just take it easy, okay?”
He waved off her concerns as she watched him walk back to the equipment garage, a tall shed of sorts where tractors, plows, harrows, bailers and God only knew what else were stored. As he disappeared into the interior, Bliss bit her lip. John Cawthorne was and always would be her father. A man she’d been able to depend upon. A man she loved.
A man who had lied over and over again. A man who, until recently, had led a secret life. A man she’d trusted.
She wondered if she ever would again.
Even though she was disgusted that he’d been such a liar as well as a cheat, she’d somehow ended up with a couple of sisters. How many times had she, as an adolescent, wished and prayed for a close sibling, someone to share dreams and worries with, a friend to shop and gossip with, another teenager who was as confused as she when she tried to understand the incomprehensible world of adults? Now, as a woman, wouldn’t she love a new companion, another person who understood her hopes, dreams, ambitions, and concerns? Someone closer than a friend, a woman bound to her by blood?
Two, she reminded herself. Two women bound to her by blood.
But would either Tiffany or Katie want anything to do with her? Did she really want them to? She frowned as she finally managed to work the sliver free from her fingertip.
