“Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” she admitted, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing that the lies would stop with her. “You fathered two children with women you didn’t marry.”

“And I didn’t want to see anyone, even a snake like Lafferty, make the same mistakes I did.”

“But—”

“No buts, Blissie,” he said, signifying that the conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over. He tilted his head to ensure that his bifocals were in the right position for reading. “Now, what have we got here?”

Bliss couldn’t believe her ears. It was as if her father would use any means possible to get his way. She’d always known he was stubborn and determined, but this side of him was new to her and she wasn’t sure she liked it very much.

“You know, for a man who swears up and down that he’s not interested in selling this place, it’s odd that you can’t put down that offer.” Bliss swatted at a cobweb that floated between the old blinds on the window and the ceiling.

“Just thought I’d see what Lafferty thinks the place is worth.” With practiced eyes he skimmed the printed text and his eyebrows jammed together in concentration. “There’s somethin’ wrong here. The figures don’t add up and . . . What in thunder? Is he out of his mind? This”—he snapped the crisp pages—“this is only for the north half of the property. I thought he wanted the whole place.”

“Didn’t you say that part of the ranch was in Brynnie’s name?”

Every muscle in John’s body tensed. His gaze shot up to hers. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if he wanted the whole ranch, he’d have to deal with her for her part.”

“For the love of—” John scowled, rubbing the edge of the documents against the stubble of his chin and as he squinted, Bliss could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. “Brynnie’s not like your mother, Bliss,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “She wouldn’t expect me to give up what I love.”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. And Mom would never—”

“Unless she got herself conned into it.” Her father snapped the leg support of the recliner into place and climbed to his feet. Wadding the offer in his fist, he headed for the den. “I think I’d better call my lawyer.”

“Why?”

“Just to make sure Lafferty doesn’t try to pull a fast one.”

* * *

“Damn it all to hell,” Mason grumbled, stomping on the brakes as his pickup slid to a stop beside the carriage house of an old Victorian home in the center of town. Four stories counting the basement, painted gray and trimmed in white gingerbread with black shutters, the mansion had been divided into separate apartments sometime between the 1920s and now. There were two other units in the old carriage house as well, and for the next few months Mason would call the upper story of that smaller building home.