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“Oh, just ignore him.” Cathleen pushed her empty plate away. “He knows there’s no way in hell I’d be stupid enough to give him a second chance.”
Poppy snapped the dishrag, then folded it over the sink. “I’m going to my room to work on my cookbook for a while. Mind if I do up a vegetable pie for lunch, Cathleen? I need to make sure I’ve got the seasonings right….”
“Be my guest.”
Which, of course, she was. Damned strangest arrangement Dylan had ever seen. Not that his arrangement with the lady of the house was much better.
Getting up from the table, he prepared to load his own dishes into the dishwasher. Cathleen made no move to stop him. This was definitely a self-serve establishment.
“Any chance we could go visit my mother later this morning? Afraid I don’t have a vehicle, so we’ll have to use your Jeep. I sold my truck in Reno before I caught the plane to Calgary.”
“I suppose. But I have work to do, too. Don’t expect me to be your personal chauffeur for the duration of your stay.”
“I won’t.” Duration of your stay? Obviously, she was weakening. Now was the time to strike. “About this arrangement in the barn. I think you should know I kept Cascade awake with my snoring last night.”
Cathleen’s smile had a most unattractive edge of self-satisfaction to it. “Really?”
“I was wondering if I could bargain my way up to a box spring and mattress?”
She shrugged. “A few postdated checks ought to do the trick. I’ve got a queen-size bed available, in the southeast-facing room.”
“Great.” He’d get a mountain view, to boot. He had no idea why she’d changed her mind about his staying, but it was an encouraging first step. Right after the dishes, he’d make out a check, for whatever sum she demanded. Then he’d have to start working on a new strategy. One that would see him moving from the guest bed into hers.
It was a nice thought, if a trifle optimistic at the moment.
CHAPTER THREE
DYLAN HATED HIS MOTHER’S new house the moment he saw it. Cathleen held the steering wheel of her Jeep with both hands, even though she’d already turned off the ignition. He supposed she was giving him time to take it all in.
The modern, California-style stucco three-story, with its triple garage and red clay-tile roof, stuck out like a monstrosity. An affront to the neighborhood of rustic, A-framed structures built of natural products like cedar and stone.
“Looks like a bloody movie set. I’m surprised they don’t have fake palm trees lining the drive.” Dylan jumped lightly from the passenger seat, his right hand automatically reaching to his left shoulder, protecting his injury from the jolt.
“Hard to imagine anything more different from your home on the ranch, isn’t it?”
He just shook his head. The large, traditional log house where he’d grown up was practically museum quality. Generations of McLeans had taken loving care of the original structure, preserving architectural integrity during subsequent expansions and modernizing.
Dylan hung back, waiting for Cathleen to precede him along the brick path to the front entrance. A minute or so after she’d rung the doorbell, he leaned over her shoulder and pressed the buzzer impatiently several more times.
“I told you we should have called.”
Cathleen toed her brown riding boot against the edge of a raised planter. The row of small globe cedars planted within looked dry and spindly. That surprised him. His mother was a formidable gardener.
Still no one answered the door. Bored, Dylan opened the mailbox and began sorting through the letters and flyers.
“What are you doing?”
“Just passing time.” Leaning against the stucco wall, he noted the return address on one manila envelope, then replaced the package in the mailbox.
Cathleen stepped back impatiently. “Let’s go. She’s not going to let us in.”
“Not so fast.” Dylan hooked her at the waist, stopping her midstride. “Let me try the door.”
He put a hand to the pewter handle and it immediately swung open. He gave her a wink. “Well?”
“We can’t—”
As he pulled her over the threshold, a white cat made an attempt to dart outside. Dylan caught the feline with one hand, then nudged the door shut with the heel of his boot.
“Mom? I’m home!” His masculine voice was loud and incongruous in the sparse perfection of the two-story foyer. Archways led on either side to a living room and den. Ahead, polished wooden stairs coiled to the upper rooms.
He began to worry. Were the rumors right? Was his mother too ill to get out of bed? From what Cathleen and Jake had said, it didn’t seem likely that she was out.
About to march up the stairs, he paused at the sound of a door closing from one of the upper rooms. The white cat scampered out of Dylan’s arms and bolted around the corner.
Finally, a slender feminine form appeared at the top of the stairs. “Where’s Crystal?”
The white cat reappeared from its hiding place, zooming up the stairs to Rose Strongman’s waiting arms.
“There you are, precious. You scared me. I heard the door and was afraid you’d run outside.”
Rose began to descend the stairs. Dylan felt strange standing there; he wasn’t sure if his mother had even seen him. In a way it was good. Frankly, he needed the moment to gather his composure.
He’d always thought of his mother as delicate. But dressed in a silk housecoat wrapped tightly around a too-narrow waist, Rose Strongman, née McLean, was now fragile to the point of brittleness. She had to have lost fifteen pounds, at least, since he’d seen her last. Her auburn hair had gone gray, and her skin sagged in grooves around her eyes, nose and mouth.
The changes were nothing unusual for a woman in her seventies or eighties. But his mother was fifty-seven.
As she came closer, Dylan saw more. The trembling in her hands, the watery film over her pale blue eyes, the crooked line of lipstick tracing a once-smiling mouth.
His mother had hurt him badly when she’d told him that she held him responsible for Jilly’s death. The night before his and Cathleen’s scheduled wedding she’d said he had no right marrying a wonderful girl like Cathleen and tainting her future with his past. She’d intimated that they’d all be much happier if he just made himself scarce.
Knowing that the source of these opinions was his stepfather, Max, hadn’t helped him deal with the pain of her attack. He just couldn’t understand why she would believe her husband over her own son. Couldn’t she recognize manipulation when she saw it?
Dylan had stored up a lot of resentment toward his mother. Now he forgot all of it and just held out his arms.
“Mom…”
“Dylan?” Rose paused, which was a good thing, because otherwise she might have tumbled down the stairs. She transferred the cat to one arm and clung to the banister with the other. “You’ve come back.”
“I have.” He stood his ground and waited for the slightest sign that she was happy to see him.
“Why? This isn’t your home anymore.”
Dylan dropped his arms to his sides. He should’ve known. “Can’t a son drop in to see his mother? I heard you’ve been under the weather.”
Rose raised her chin. No faulting her posture. “I’m perfectly well.”
Too concerned to bother with tact, he shook his head. “You don’t look it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The words themselves were strident, but they lost their effect when delivered in Rose’s wavering voice.
“Rose, you do seem a little weak,” Cathleen said. “Would you like us to help you back to bed?”
“Of course not. Please stop this. I hate fussing.” She squinted, making Dylan wonder if the moisture he’d seen over her eyes was really early-stage cataracts. “Is that you, Cathleen Shannon? What in the world are you doing here?”
Cathleen eyed him quickly before answering. “I’ve been meaning to drop by for a visit. You don’t get out much anymore. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you since—”
Rose blinked rapidly. “You’re right. I don’t go out anymore. How can I?” She focused on Dylan. “A mother has to take responsibility for how her children turn out.”
A sickening mixture of guilt and anger twisted Dylan’s gut. His mother had become a recluse because of him? Instinctively his hands curled into fists, but there was no one to fight. A good strong left couldn’t touch public opinion.
“Can we just sit down and talk for a minute?” Cathleen suggested.
It was a good idea, but where? Glancing around, he couldn’t see a place to get comfortable. All the rooms looked formal and pristine. “Maybe in the kitchen?”
In the old days, when his father was alive, his family had practically lived around the old oak table that had sat by the window overlooking the east pasture. Following Rose to the back of the house, he wasn’t surprised to see a new wrought-iron set in the showpiece kitchen. The entire room was beyond what he could’ve imagined. Custom cherry cabinetry, beautiful marble countertops and restaurant-quality stainless steel appliances all vied for attention in the large space.
“Please sit down.” A trace of Rose’s old hospitality surfaced as she beckoned them to the thickly cushioned chairs.
“How about I put on the kettle for some tea,” Cathleen offered.
“Good idea,” Dylan said. “Maybe I can find some crackers and cheese to go with that.” His mother was so frail he wondered if she ever ate. She used to have a good appetite, a love of delicious food. He went to the built-in fridge and saw no shortage of supplies. He picked out a nice hunk of Brie.
“No!” his mother said. “That’s for Max. He likes it with a glass of wine after dinner.”
Oh really? Dylan eyed the trash compactor, but Cathleen snatched the cheese from his hands before he dared. She returned the Brie to the fridge and substituted Cheddar.
He pulled himself together. It was only cheese, after all. Crackers were in the pantry next to the fridge. While Cathleen prepared the tea, he sliced the cheddar and placed it on a plate with the Wheat Thins.
His mother was staring out the window, holding the cat, stroking her compulsively. For a second Dylan had the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn’t quite there mentally. And then abruptly, she focused on him, with eyes suddenly bright and alert.
“Why’d you come back, Dylan?”
“Cathleen asked me the same question last night. I’m beginning to think no one wants me.”
“Really? You’re so sensitive,” Cathleen muttered.
“It was safer when you were gone,” Rose added.
“They aren’t going to arrest me, Mom,” he said, then realized that wasn’t what she’d meant. “For Max, you mean?”
During his extended stay at the hospital in Reno, it had occurred to him that his departure from Canmore had been very convenient for Max. With Dylan gone, Max had full control. Of the ranch, the money…and Rose.
His mother’s expression started to turn blank again, as if she’d decided to opt out of the conversation. Cathleen reached for the woman’s pale hand and changed the subject. She brought Rose up-to-date with news about former neighbors, then the results of a recent fund-raiser given by the horticultural society.
Gradually, Rose began to relax. A couple of times she even smiled. How could she not, with Cathleen’s outrageous stories? Dylan wondered if she was just making them up, then decided it didn’t really matter. Just hearing her talk was enough. For his mother, anyway.
Him, he wanted more. But given Cathleen’s frosty attitude, it was hard to believe that there had once been a time when she’d returned his smiles and welcomed his touches. Now those days felt as distant as something he’d read about in a book or seen in a movie.
Cathleen had poured his tea black and strong, just the way he liked it. He took a sip, then focused on his mother. Cathleen was chatting on about an editorial she must have read in the local paper that week. There was a spark of pleasure in Rose’s eyes as she listened. Dylan wondered what else brightened his mother’s days. Her cat, obviously. But were there any people she still connected with? Friends from the old days?
Not likely, since she didn’t seem to have heard any of the news Cathleen was telling her.
Rose took a sip of her tea and nodded at something Cathleen said. Gradually, she let her gaze slide over to her son. Seeing the resulting frown didn’t make him feel very good.
He couldn’t stop himself from bringing up the subject again. “You know I didn’t hurt Jilly, don’t you, Mom?”
For a moment he caught a glimpse of something soft and warm. The woman who had read him stories and baked him cookies and kissed his scraped knees was still inside there. But almost as soon as the softening happened, it disappeared. His mother’s gaze became vague again, and her mouth tightened with anxiety.
“You shouldn’t have caused trouble for Max,” she said. “If only you could have left well enough alone.”
“Max is the one causing the problems. Dad would never have allowed those wells to be drilled on the Bar M.”
“Your father isn’t here anymore.”
No. He sure as hell wasn’t. “What’s going on with the ranch?”
She shook her head.
“I heard you hired Danny Mizzoni to look after it.”
“The mayor of Canmore ought to live in town,” Rose said weakly.
Cathleen’s glance showed the same concern he felt. His mother was talking like a robot. And he sure as hell knew who’d programmed her.
“The ranch isn’t even being operated anymore, is it?” Dylan tried not to sound bitter, but the news he’d heard from both Jake and Cathleen sickened him to the core. Apparently the herd had been sold, as well as most of the equipment.
“It’s for the best.”
He ignored Cathleen’s restraining hand on his arm. “I’d like to know what Dad—”
“Your father is dead. Max is the head of this family now.”
She couldn’t have said anything that would have infuriated him more. “Max has nothing to do with me. And he doesn’t have any business making decisions that concern my land.”
“It’s not your land, Dylan.”
“I’m a McLean, aren’t I? You know Dad meant for me and Jake to own the ranch one day.”
Rose tightened her lips. “When I heard about Jilly, I redid my will. After I die, everything goes to Max. And when he dies, it passes on to James.”
Dylan heard Cathleen gasp. “You can’t mean that…” He sputtered and grabbed tight to the hand that had just reached out to him. Cathleen’s hand.
“Mother, that land means everything to me. If you want to give half to the Strongmans and the rest to me and Jake, I’m willing to talk about that. But you can’t cut us out completely.”
It couldn’t be legal, could it? If only his father had bequeathed the land directly to him! But his dad’s simple will had left everything to his wife, on the understanding that she would pass the land on to Dylan and Jake when it was her turn to go. It had sounded simple enough when his father had sat the three of them around the kitchen table to discuss it. Of course his father could never have anticipated Max Strongman entering their lives.
“I need to have that ranch,” he told his mother now. “It’s my birthright.”
