“I expected as much from him, but not from you, Brynnie. Never you. He hornswoggled you, didn’t he?”

Brynnie swallowed back the tears in her throat. “No, John,” she said. “This was all my idea.”

John lowered himself onto a bench pushed up against the house. “But you know how much this place means to me.”

“I’m hoping I mean more,” Brynnie said, her chin trembling as she dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips.

John shook his head and Bliss decided they needed to be alone to sort this all out. “I need to drive into town,” she said, “for some supplies. I’m setting up an office in the den and this looks like a good time. You two need to talk. Alone.”

“No, please,” Brynnie said. “Don’t run off, we’ll work this out—”

Bliss smiled and lied through her teeth. “I’m sure. Listen, it was great to finally meet you, but, really, I’ve got to go. Bye, Dad” With a wave, she hurried into the house and grabbed her purse.

She was going to drive into town, all right, but her trip had nothing to do with supplies. Nope. She was going to track Mason Lafferty down and get the straight story.

If the man was capable of anything other than lies.

Chapter Five

Bliss jammed on the parking brake in the shade of an ancient oak tree and as the engine of her Mustang cooled, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Some of her anger should have dissipated during the drive into town, but it hadn’t and even though she took the time to call the phone company and locate Mason’s apartment, here in this huge Victorian manor, she was still ready to read him the riot act.

Who was he to think that he could deal with Brynnie behind her father’s back? Why in the world was he so interested in the ranch? For once John Cawthorne was right There were dozens of other ranches Mason could purchase; all he had to do was talk to a real-estate agent or two.

“Bastard,” she muttered as she climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. She strode up the front walk, past a rose garden and a sign that advertised an apartment for rent. On the front porch, she punched the bell and heard the peal of melodic chimes.

Footsteps scurried inside the house and within seconds a little girl of about three yanked open the door. “Mommy,” she called over her shoulder just as a woman with her black hair clipped into a makeshift French braid appeared. She was wiping her hands on a towel and smiled when she saw Bliss.

“Just a second.” With a disapproving look at the little curly-haired imp, she said, “Christina, you know better than to open the door without me.”

“But—”

“We’ll talk about it later.” She picked up the pouting child, balanced her on a hip and turned all of her attention back to Bliss. “What can I do for you?”