“When did you arrive at this conclusion?” she asked.
“Took me longer than it should’ve. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.” That he’d lost the love of his life. That he’d probably be an old man before he was able to ranch his own land again. That his own mother thought he was a vicious murderer…
But last month he’d been hospitalized—first serious injury since he’d started rodeo life—and the downtime had given him plenty of opportunity for reflection. Then Jake had called and told him he was worried about Rose. Max had convinced her to move off the ranch and into a fancy house in Whitefish. Since then Rose had become something of a recluse. She’d even refused to see Jake last time he called her.
That had been the final push Dylan needed. The next day he’d sold his rig and bought a ticket to Kalispell.
“But what evidence do you have?”
“That’s what I’m here for. To find evidence. And to talk my mother into leaving him. Have you seen her lately?”
She shook her head. “After our wedding was canceled, dropping in for coffee seemed inappropriate. And of course she’s living in town now. How about you? Have you kept in touch?”
He heard the recrimination in her voice, as if she expected the answer to be no. But he’d tried. “Mom didn’t answer any of my emails or accept my calls.” He rubbed a dirty spot on the knee of his jeans and wondered if he dared ask. What the hell, she could only say no.
“I plan on dropping in on her tomorrow. I don’t expect she’ll be thrilled to see me, but if you were there, too, she probably wouldn’t slam the door in my face.”
Cathleen had been a favorite of his mother’s. When they announced their engagement, Rose said she was glad because she already thought of Cathleen as a daughter.
“I’ve heard she’s become something of a recluse.” Cathleen looked like she blamed him for that.
“You probably think it’s my fault. If so, I’ll accept the blame. I just need to see her. Make sure she’s all right.”
“You’ve heard she and Max have moved off the Thunder Bar M into town?”
“Yeah, Jake told me. I don’t get it. Leave the house, maybe. But her gardens?” He’d put in enough back-breaking labor that even he was attached to them.
Dylan felt a bitterness in his heart. “Jake also told me Max sold all the cattle and hired some kind of caretaker to look after the home quarter.”
“Yes. Danny Mizzoni. He’s living in the main house with his wife and two kids.”
“Seriously? Jake didn’t tell me that.” Danny had been a few years behind them in school. Dylan vaguely remembered hearing he’d been arrested on drug charges a while back. “Isn’t he still in jail?”
“Danny was paroled a year after we were engaged. I assume Jake also told you Max was elected mayor of Whitefish this year on a pro-development platform?”
“Pro-development. That figures.” Whitefish, next to a world-class ski resort as well as the popular Glacier National Park, had always been a battleground between those who wanted to capitalize on the town’s appeal to tourists and those concerned about preserving the natural beauty and wildlife habitat of the surrounding area.
He noticed how flushed Cathleen’s face was getting. As she allowed her feet to float up and out of the water, he could see that even her toes had turned red.
“I’m not a chef, darlin’, but I’d say you’ve been cooked.”
“Usually I limit myself to twenty minutes. You’ve kept me in here almost double that. Why don’t you go into the kitchen for a drink? I’ll join you in a minute.”
A gentleman would probably do just as she asked, or, at a minimum, retrieve the towel draped on a nearby Adirondack chair, then turn his back as she slipped it around herself.
But both options seemed kind of dull to him. He glanced from the towel back to her, then raised his eyebrows. Without a word spoken, it was out there. Dare you.
She glared at him.
He went to the chair, reached for the towel, then changed course and sat down. “This is real comfortable. I could sit here all night.”
“Oh, really?”
“Of course, if you were to offer me a room, that would probably be even more comfy.”
“Bastard,” she muttered. Then, even as he was congratulating himself on a hand well played, she stood.
Cathleen took her time climbing out of the tub and replacing the cover.
Her body gleamed. Taut muscles, curved lines, gorgeous legs. In the moonlight her skin was honey brown—except for the dreamy places protected from the summer sun by her bikini.
Once she’d secured the lid she walked right up to him and pulled the towel out from under him. Methodically she patted off the moisture beaded on her skin—then tossed the towel at his face.
Completely naked, completely beautiful, she strolled to the patio doors, then turned back casually. The coldness in her eyes slapped down his libido as effectively as a pail of cold water over the head.
She hated him. Almost immediately he rejected the impression. She was still angry, that was all. She’d get over it.
“Come, Kip.” She ushered her dog into the house, then glanced back at him. “About tonight…”
“Yeah?” His confidence surged. After all, even before they’d fallen in love, they’d been best friends. She would never—
“There’s a cot in an empty stall in the horse barn,” she said. “If you’re desperate, you can have that.”
Find out what happens next in A Cowboy’s Proposal…
Buy Now!
Keep Up with your Favorite Authors and their New Releases
For the latest news from Tule Publishing authors, sign up for our newsletter here or check out our website at TulePublishing.com
Stay social! For new release updates, behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, and reader giveaways:
Like us on
Follow us on
Follow us on
See you online!
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling author C. J. Carmichael has written over 50 novels with more than three million copies in print. She has been nominated for the RT Bookclub’s Career Achievement in Romantic Suspense award, and is a three time nominee for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award.
Visit C.J.’s website at CJCarmichael.com
Sign up for her newsletter here!
Like C.J. on Facebook and follow her on Twitter @cj_carmichael
*
For the latest news from Tule Publishing, visit our website at TulePublishing.com and sign up for our newsletter here!
Letters From Grace Page 18