A Second-Chance Proposal. C.J. Carmichael

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.