by Lisa Jackson
In the ensuing silence, Bliss glanced at the calendar. Only a few weeks until her father said “I do” for the second time in his life. Somehow, Bliss had come to terms with her father and his new bride. She had to find a way to lock away her past with him, to concentrate on the future so that she could honestly wish him happiness and maybe some kind of peace that had eluded him for most of his life.
“The invitations went out last week,” Brynnie was saying. “The flowers are ordered, the cake is gonna be beautiful and if I can only get those miserable caterers to come up with a decent meal for a price that wouldn’t make a millionaire’s eyes pop out of his head, we’ll be set.”
Katie glanced at her watch, then at Bliss. “Why don’t you take a ride into town with me and we’ll grab a soda or something?”
Bliss hesitated, but just for a second.
“Okay,” she said, involuntarily squaring her shoulders as if readying herself for battle. “Let’s go.”
Katie didn’t need any further encouragement. Within minutes they were out the door and on the road in Katie’s old rattletrap of a convertible. Despite her seat belt, Bliss clung to the door handle. The car was an older model with a big engine and it practically flew past the dry fields and rounded hills. Telephone poles whipped by and Bliss’s hair tangled in the wind. The radio was on and the pounding beat of an old song by The Who rocked through the speakers.
“I hear that you and Mason Lafferty are an item,” Katie said as she took a corner so fast the tires squealed.
“An item? Where’d you hear that?” Bliss was trying to hold her hair into a ponytail with one hand while clutching the door with the other. The last topic of conversation she wanted to deal with was Mason.
“Mom. She seems to have an ear to the ground.”
Or a nose for gossip, Bliss thought. “There’s nothing going on between Mason and me.”
“Why not?” Katie cast her half-sister a grin. “You have to admit he’s hot.”
“Oh, for the love of . . . Hot?”
“That’s the term the kids use. Josh is always telling me who’s hot and who’s not in the fourth grade.”
“This isn’t elementary school.” And yet her heart pounded like that of a schoolgirl whenever she heard his name.
“I know, but, as I told you before, Mason’s one of the most eligible bachelors in these parts.”
“I’m not in the market,” Bliss said, as if to convince herself. “Why don’t you date him?”
“Naw. Known him all my life. He hung out with my older brother, Jarrod, so even though he’s sexy as all get-out, I’m immune.” She eased up on the gas as she approached town. A wooden sign welcoming visitors to Bittersweet needed a new coat of paint and the railroad tracks that had run parallel to the road curved toward the spindly-looking trestle bridge that spanned the river. Flat, single-story strip malls had sprouted on the outskirts of town, while in the older section, near the town square and Mason’s office, shops with false western-style fronts rose two or three stories.
“Do you know his wife?” Bliss asked as Katie nosed her car into a parking spot.
“Terri? Sure.” She turned off the engine and tossed the oversize key ring into her purse. With a shrug, she added, “She’s okay, I guess. After the divorce, she moved to—Colorado, I think. Either Boulder or Aspen or . . . Well, it doesn’t matter. A few years ago she moved back here with Dee Dee, her and Mason’s daughter.”
Bliss remembered the girl with the soulful eyes.
They walked across the hot sidewalk where tiny particles of glass reflected in the sunlight. Katie opened the door of a coffee shop with her hip and waved to a waitress in a checked blouse and brown pants.
She seemed to know everyone in the place, from an old man with one leg and a charming smile, to a five-year-old blond girl who burst out of the rest room and careened into Katie’s waiting arms. “Cindy Mae West, what’re you doing here?” Katie asked with a wide grin as she scooped up the urchin.
“Havin’ ice cream with my dad.”
“You’d better go eat it before it melts.” Katie hugged the child and set her on the black-and-white tiled floor. Like a shot, the kid bolted to a booth in the corner where her father was smoking a cigarette and a caramel sundae was dripping over the side of its dish.
Katie and Bliss sat in a booth near the windows, ordered soft drinks, and after they were both sipping from their sodas, Katie, green eyes sparkling, said, “Go ahead. Ask me about Mason.” As if she saw the protest forming in her half-sister’s eyes, she added, “And don’t give me any backtalk about not being interested. I’m a journalist, you know, write part-time for the Rogue River Review and you just happen to be one lousy liar, Bliss Cawthorne.”
That much was true, and since Katie had already guessed that she was, at some slight level, emotionally involved with Mason, there was no reason to argue the point. “All right. So I’m interested. A little.”
“A lot, I’d think.”
“A little.”
“Okay, okay. The way the story goes is that Mason had an affair with Terri Fremont years ago. She got pregnant and he, after losing his job at John’s, er, your—well, my dad’s place, too, I guess. Gosh, this is complicated. Anyway, Mason married her and moved to Montana or somewhere. His sister—you remember Patty, don’t you?” When Bliss shook her head, Katie waved her hand as if to dismiss the girl. “She was a wild one and Mason felt like he had to take care of her after his mother died. Anyway, she moved in with Mason and Terri, and I suspect there was hell to pay. Then Terri miscarried and the marriage was in trouble. The baby was all they had in common, the only reason they had walked down the aisle.”
“Miscarried?” Bliss repeated, jolted. “But Dee Dee . . .”
“Deanna. I know. She came along right after the miscarriage, I guess.” Katie’s face twisted thoughtfully. “I don’t exactly know all the details, probably no one does, but I’m sure . . . Well, I think I’ve got the story pretty much straight.” She took a long sip through her straw. “As I said, I really don’t know Terri that well and Mason’s pretty tightlipped about everything concerning his private life. All I’m sure about is that the split wasn’t amicable at all. They were separated for a couple of years and ended up getting a divorce. Terri, who hired some hotshot attorney from Portland, came out smelling like a rose.”
“How’s that?” Bliss asked, knowing she shouldn’t be listening to such blatant gossip, but she couldn’t help herself. When it came to Mason, she couldn’t seem to learn enough. The thought rankled her. She detested women who were forever trying to find out more about certain men, but here she was, pumping her half-sister for information on the one guy she should forget about.
Katie swirled her drink with her straw, and shaved ice danced in the glass. “Because by that time Mason had done well for himself. He’d saved for years, bought a ranch in Montana, discovered oil on the property and then started buying other places. He threw himself into his business as if he had something to prove. Worked twenty-hour days if you can believe the local gossip. Terri left the marriage a wealthy woman—well, wealthy by Bittersweet standards. I doubt if she’d cause much of a stir in New York or L.A.” Katie tossed down her straw and gulped down the remainder of her drink.
“What about his sister?”
“Patty?” A dark cloud passed behind Katie’s eyes. “Don’t know,” she admitted. “She has a place over near the river, but she’s gone a lot. Very private person—kind of weird, I think. Never got over her mother’s suicide.” Frowning slightly, Katie glanced at her watch and found a way to change the subject. “I think we should talk to Tiffany.”
“Now?” Bliss was stunned.
“No time like the present.” Katie dropped a few dollars onto the table and pretended that she didn’t hear Bliss’s protests that she would pick up the tab. “Come on.” Katie was already on her way to the door.
With trepidation as her companion, Bliss slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t
you think we should call her first? Give her some time to get used to the idea?”
“Probably.” But Katie shouldered open the door and walked briskly toward her convertible. “Trust me, she won’t be that shocked. I already introduced myself a couple of weeks ago.”
“But—”
“Come on. You’re not a coward.”
“No, just cautious.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that one for a minute. No daughter of John Cawthorne’s is cautious.”
“Okay, okay.” There seemed to be no talking Katie out of her half-baked plan, and Bliss reluctantly climbed into her half-sister’s disreputable car. “You know, she might not be all that interested in meeting me.”
“Never know until you try.” Katie jammed the car into gear.
Bliss settled back in the seat and sighed. The truth of the matter was that she wanted to know more about her older half-sister, and if the truth were known, the fact that Tiffany was Mason’s landlord only added to her interest.
“This could be the best thing that ever happened to you!” Katie took a corner a little too fast and Bliss slid in her seat.
Or, Bliss thought, it might just be the worst.
* * *
The air-conditioning was on the fritz and Mason’s office was an oven. Even with the windows partially open, the room was stuffy and warm. Sweat collected around his collar and hairline, and he thought of dozens of reasons to take the rest of the day off. But he couldn’t leave quite yet. Edie was in the outer office and, as the door between their rooms was ajar, he heard her humming to herself as her fingers flew over the keyboard of her computer.
“So I’m not sure where I’ll be,” Terri said over the phone. “Bob has a place up on Orcas Island and it’s absolutely beautiful in the summer.”
“Dee Dee needs a permanent home.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Terri, for once, think of her.”
“Like I don’t?” she replied, her voice elevating an octave. “Do I have to remind you that I’ve raised her almost single-handedly these past eight years?”
Here we go again. “No, Terri, but I’ve told you I’d like her to live with me.”
She snorted. “Forget it, Mason, I’ll let you know what I decide. Remember, you’ve got her for a couple of hours tonight. I’ll drop her off later.”
“Wait a minute—”
Click.
“Terri? Terri?” But she’d hung up. “Damn it all to hell.” He kicked at the wastebasket and sent it flying against the far wall.
“Are you all right?” Edie asked.
“Just fine,” Mason growled as he slammed down the receiver and fought the urge to swear a blue streak. His head pounded and if he thought it would do any good, he’d drive over to Terri’s place and—And what? Scream and yell? Beg and plead? Threaten? No way. The only thing Terri understood was money. Lots of it. He had to calm down and work this out with a cool head and an open checkbook.
Slowly counting to fifty, he stood and stretched his spine, balled and straightened his fists. His desk was cluttered and now, where the wastebasket had spilled, papers had spewed onto the floor. He picked up the can and retrieved the trash and vowed never to let that woman get to him again.
He’d spent the better part of the day going over profit-and-loss statements, dealing with attorneys and accountants, and wrestling with decisions about his business, his daughter, and, of course, Bliss. He’d foolishly thought he could forget her. Wrong. It seemed that with each passing day he was more obsessed with John Cawthorne’s daughter.
Cawthorne. He was another headache in and of himself. A real head-case, that guy.
Resting a hip on the corner of his desk, Mason spied the deed to Cawthorne’s ranch on top of one stack of papers. Brynnie had signed it, the thing was legal, all he had to do was record the transaction with the county.
Or sell it back to her.
Hell, what a mess.
He rounded the desk, found a bottle of Scotch in the cupboard by the window, unscrewed the cap and took one long, fiery swallow. As the liquor burned a welcome trail down his throat, he discovered that all of his anger with the old man had evaporated, and the vengeance he’d nurtured over the years—the need to prove himself to Bliss and her father—had faded with time. He didn’t need Cawthorne Acres. Unfortunately what he did need, he realized with a sinking feeling, was Bliss.
“Get a grip, Lafferty,” he chastised. She was still off-limits. Always would be. And he had other problems to deal with. If he wasn’t going to settle down at the Cawthorne ranch, he needed a place big enough for himself, Dee Dee, and a housekeeper-nanny. Or a wife.
He took one more tug off the bottle, screwed on the cap and shoved it back where it belonged. A wife? No way. He’d tried that once before and look what a mess he’d gotten himself into. Yeah, but you married the wrong woman. You knew it at the time.
He folded the deed and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket just as the phone rang.
“Jarrod Smith, on line one,” Edie called through the open door.
“Got it.” Mason picked up the receiver. “Hey,” he said, “what’s up?”
“It’s Patty.” Jarrod’s voice was grim, without any trace of humor whatsoever. “I think I’ve found her.”
Chapter Ten
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Bliss thought aloud, but Katie, determined that the sisters should meet, was threading the car into the slow stream of traffic that ran through Bittersweet. “You know I already met Tiffany once.”
“I heard. Mom said Octavia told her about it.”
“Tiffany never said a word about who she was or that we were sisters or anything.”
“She was probably shocked.”
“Beyond shocked. Way beyond,” Bliss said, remembering the horrified look in her half-sister’s eyes when she’d mentioned who she was.
“Well, she should have said something, but didn’t. We’ll give her a second chance.” Katie gunned through a yellow light, then eased up on the throttle as they passed hundred-year-old churches with spires and bell towers and wound down tree-lined streets flanked by stately old manors.
“She’s Mason’s landlady,” Bliss ventured.
“Mmm.” Katie sent her a sidelong glance. “Thought you didn’t care about him.”
“I don’t, much.”
Katie didn’t say a word, but looked as if she were swallowing an I-knew-it-all-along smile.
Bliss’s stomach tightened as Katie turned the corner to the street where both Tiffany and Mason lived. She told herself that her paranoia was ridiculous as Katie parked at the curb in front of the ornate Victorian house.
Bliss steeled herself for her meeting with her other half-sister. A sprinkler sprayed jets of water over the parched lawn and a black cat sunned itself on the pavement of the driveway near a basketball hoop. Bliss didn’t know what to expect. It had been over a week since she’d stopped by looking for Mason and had inadvertently introduced herself to Tiffany, and in that time she hadn’t heard a word from her. At Katie’s swift pace she walked up the brick path to the porch. Once at the front door, there wasn’t any time for second guesses. Katie pressed the button for the bell.
The door opened and Bliss stood face-to-face with her older sister again. Tiffany Nesbitt Santini looked no more like her than Katie did.
Chin-length black hair framed a heart-shaped face. Eyes, a soft brown, were surrounded by thick lashes and tanned skin stretched tautly over high, sculpted cheekbones. Her mouth was wide, full-lipped and set in a tentative smile.
“Katie,” she said, shifting her curious gaze to the petite redhead. The smile faded a little.
“Hi.” Katie seemed suddenly nervous.
“And Bliss.” Tiffany’s grin disappeared. “I wondered when you’d figure it out and be back.”
Bliss’s heart did a nosedive. Any warmth in Tiffany’s eyes had disappeared and there was a slight stiffening of her backbone. “I thought we should meet.�
�
“We did,” Tiffany replied.
“No. You met me. You didn’t give me your name.”
“You didn’t bother to ask.”
“I know, I didn’t think of it.”
“Because you were anxious to find your ‘friend’ Mason.”
Boy, this woman had a wicked tongue. Bliss gave herself a swift mental kick for agreeing to Katie’s screwball plan. The least they could have done was given Tiffany the courtesy of a telephone call.
“Can we come in?” Katie acted as if she didn’t sense any of the nuances of the conversation, as if she didn’t feel the tension simmering between her half-sisters. But it was there, evident in Tiffany’s cool stare and frosty demeanor.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Bliss added, half hoping she’d refuse them and this ordeal would be over. So Tiffany didn’t like her. Big deal.
“Sure. Why not?” Tiffany’s voice had all the warmth of the inside of an igloo.
A million reasons why not, Bliss thought, but pressed on.
Guardedly, the eldest of John Cawthorne’s three daughters stepped out of the doorway and allowed them both to pass. Katie, as if she knew the place, took a right into an old parlor with gleaming hardwood floors covered partially by a floral-print carpet and wing chairs. A small camelback sofa was set in front of a marble fireplace and cushions covered the bench seats of two bay windows.
“I didn’t expect company,” Tiffany explained.
“Mommy? Who is it?” a small voice called from the second floor.
“Ms. Kinkaid—you don’t know her, honey. She’s here with a . . . a friend.”
A flurry of footsteps heralded the entrance of Christina. Her eyes were wide like her mother’s and her black hair shone nearly blue as she careened into the room. Tiffany’s harsh countenance softened a bit. “I think you’ve both met my daughter.”
The smiling cherub flung herself into her mother’s waiting arms, but she eyed Bliss with unveiled suspicion, much as her mother did.
“Well, uh, wow, this is awkward, isn’t it? Where are my manners? Please”—Tiffany waved toward the chairs—“have a seat. Can I . . . offer you something to drink?”
