A Second-Chance Proposal. C.J. Carmichael

      Oh, Lord. This was crazy. Yes, Dylan had been a jerk. But she didn’t want him ostracized for life. If people around town needed her to forgive him—which she wasn’t ever going to do, but she could pretend—before they could do the same, then so be it.

      “I guess I’ll have to let him stay here, then.”

      “Cathleen, that’s crazy, even for you. We’ve lived in Canmore all our lives, and God knows, the people here love you, always have. But if you let Dylan stay at your B and B, they’ll assume you’re trying to protect him. And Jilly Beckett was just sixteen years old….”

      “It’s nobody’s business who stays at my place. And I’m the first to acknowledge that Jilly’s death was a tragedy, but Dylan wasn’t responsible.”

      “Let’s say you’re right about that. What about the fact that you two were once in love? Won’t it be painful to have him around?”

      “Don’t worry, Kelly. I’m over him. Why won’t anyone believe me when I tell them that?” Since when had her love life become a matter of town policy, anyway? It was bad enough that her sisters couldn’t seem to butt out of her business.

      After the conversation ended, Cathleen went to the cabinet by the patio doors and poured herself a brandy. She was confused about a lot of things right now, but there were two points on which she had no doubt.

      Dylan hadn’t killed Jilly. She would back him on this against all of them—the townspeople, the cops, her sisters…hell, even his own mother.

      Their personal relationship, however, was a different matter. If he thought he could flirt and tease his way back into her heart, he’d soon discover he was wrong. His apology tonight hadn’t cut it by half. That man had walked out on her.

      And she was going to make him pay.

      DYLAN AWOKE COLD, STIFF and bad tempered. Through narrowed eyes he spied his roommate, a sturdy little quarter horse with a spotted coat. At the same moment, she turned her head to the side and focused one dark-lashed brown eye at him.

      “Sleep well?” he asked, propping his back against the wooden wall. Pain stabbed through his left shoulder, and he brought up his right hand protectively. In her stall, Cascade snorted.

      “Me, neither.” This wasn’t his first time crashing out on a stable floor, but he was definitely getting too old for this—

      Plop, plop. Cascade didn’t even blink as she performed her morning purge.

      Dylan wrinkled his nose. He’d worked with the smell of horses all his life. But usually he’d had his first coffee of the day before he did so.

      He pulled himself upright, then gave Cascade a pat on her flank. “We’ll talk more later,” he promised. He brushed the straw from his jeans and put on a clean shirt from his backpack. Carrying both his hat and his shaving kit, he tugged open the barn door, then strained to close it behind him.

      Outside he paused, pulling in lungfuls of the crisp mountain air and scanning the landscape. Cathleen’s property sat on the northern edge of Thunder Valley, tucked in a vee, with the Three Sisters Mountain to the southeast and Mount Lawrence Grassi to the southwest. North lay the Bow River, then the Trans-Canada Highway, which linked Canmore to the bustling city of Calgary, one hour east.

      When the property had come on the market more than two years ago, Cathleen had immediately been taken by the possibilities of the house. He’d loved the land it sat on and that it was adjacent to the Thunder Bar M. He’d hoped to one day combine the two properties. But that was a distant dream now.

      He rubbed his chin, then headed for the house. Looking up, he wondered which bedroom window belonged to Cathleen. God, the sight of her getting out of that hot tub last night was something he’d never forget. Trust her to have the nerve. They’d pulled some crazy stunts together when they were younger, and Cathleen had never been able to resist a dare. So that much hadn’t changed.

      But, as she’d pointed out last night, lots else had. Maybe he should’ve hiked back to Canmore and tried to find someplace else to stay. He had to admit their reunion scene hadn’t gone as well as it could have. He’d kind of hoped she would yell at him and throw a few dishes around the place, then let him pull her into his arms and make it all up to her. But she’d been worse than angry. She’d been cold and aloof. How was he supposed to deal with that?

      He stopped at the outdoor tap to brush his teeth and shave—a pain at the best of times, miserable when all you had was cold water. This day wasn’t off to the best of starts. He didn’t like his odds at being offered breakfast, but he’d settle for a good, hot cup of coffee. Hat in hand, he stepped up the painted boards of the porch steps—she’d replaced the former rotting structure—then knocked at the screen.

      The wafting scents were tantalizing. Eggs and coffee and something baking.

      He tapped on the wooden frame again. “Can I come in?”

      “Sure.” An elderly woman flipped the latch on the screen door. Her impossibly red curls were tied back with a turquoise scarf that matched her belted pantsuit. She had on bright red lipstick and a generous dash of perfume. “Cathleen said you’d be up any minute. You’re that man who ran out on her the morning of your wedding, aren’t you? Cathleen told me the story.”

      He ran a hand over his face, expecting recriminations. None came.

      “Sit down, son. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

      Dylan scratched the top of his head, slightly bewildered. Why was this woman offering to cook him breakfast? And where was Cathleen?

      He sat, though, after tucking his denim shirt into his jeans. It seemed wiser to go with the flow for the moment. No sooner was his butt in a chair than a mug of steaming coffee was set in front of him, along with a muffin and a sectioned grapefruit. He appreciated the coffee. Wasn’t so sure about the muffin. After giving it a prod, he tore off a smidgen and slipped it to Kip. The dog gobbled it as if it were a prime cut of steak.

      “Um, thanks. Is Cathleen…?”

      “She’s outside doing something with the hot tub. Checking pH levels and adding chlorine, I think. She’ll be right in. Now, how do you like your eggs?”

      “Eggs?”

      “Breakfast is—”

      “The most important meal of the day.”

      Sunshine suddenly blazed through the doorway as Cathleen sailed into the room. Just the pleasure of seeing the smile she blasted in his direction was reward enough for this bizarre homecoming of his. For a moment he let himself pretend that the past two years had been a dream. That they were married and that she was smiling because she loved him and was happy to see him.

      Cathleen straddled the chair opposite his and rested her chin in her hand. “You two have met each other?”

      Dylan glanced at the woman by the stove. “Sure have.”

      “Good. Thanks, Poppy,” she added as the woman placed a muffin, grapefruit and coffee in front of Cathleen.

      Dylan found the whole scene confusing. Cathleen seemed perfectly content to be waited on by her elderly paying guest. “I’ve never heard of a bed-and-breakfast where the guests served the owners,” he commented.

      Cathleen held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “She wakes up before I do, gets behind the stove and then won’t budge.”

      “I’m a born cook,” Poppy declared, dropping a pat of butter into a warmed frying pan. “And I need to test my recipes on someone. Besides, I’ve lived on my own for so long it’s wonderful to have people to cook for again.”

      “No family?” Dylan asked.

      Poppy’s inner glow dimmed. “Not anymore…. Now then,” she said briskly. “Something tells me you’re a sunny-side-up man.” She raised an egg over the frying pan. “Am