She shook her head. “I guess I was feeling guilty, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. The thing is that even though I don’t care about John Cawthorne, I wouldn’t want him to suffer, so I’m glad to hear that he’s recovering. Other than that, I don’t have much to say.”

Bliss dropped her hand and Tiffany left.

Why Bliss felt a sense of loss, she didn’t understand. As far as she was concerned, Tiffany Santini had never been her sister and never would be. Tiffany had decided.

* * *

Brynnie’s house was situated two blocks from the park and painted a faded shade of salmon. It had once been a small cottage but had been expanded over the years to accommodate various husbands and additional children. A wing from the kitchen shot into the backyard, the attic had been turned into a bedroom/loft and the garage had been converted into an apartment attached to the house by an open breezeway. A few petunias splashed color from barrels placed by the front door, where the torn mesh of the screen needed replacing. Three cats lazed on a cracked driveway.

As Bliss knocked on the door, she heard her father’s voice through the screen. “I told you, this isn’t happening—”

“Come in, the door’s open,” Brynnie yelled over John’s deeper, angry voice.

“I don’t care what any damned doctor says, I’m not lyin’ around here twiddlin’ my fingers and toes.” John Cawthorne was seated on a plaid couch and pulling on a boot. His face was red, his jaw set and Bliss knew from experience that he wasn’t going to change his mind. “Hi, kiddo,” he said as Bliss entered, then went right on ranting at Brynnie.

“I have to check with the accountant about my insurance payments and the foreman of the ranch about how much feed we’ll need this winter. Bill Crosswhite’s got a bull I might want to buy or use, and I’d like to see the animal myself. Then there’s the properties up in Seattle—the house is up for sale and the boat. I’ve got two empty warehouses that someone wants to convert to apartments and . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized both women were staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“And what about the wedding?” Brynnie asked. “Are you gonna be able to squeeze that in?”

“Of course, but—”

“We’re supposed to talk to the preacher this afternoon.”

“The preacher. Right.” John rubbed the side of his face and scratched at the silver stubble on his jaw. Rather than address the subject, he asked Bliss, “How’re you doing out at the ranch all alone?”

“I’m not really alone, Dad. You’ve got workers.”

He snorted. “Such as they are.”