Why hadn’t he told her about Terri Fremont years ago when Bliss was falling in love with him? What was the reason he left Bittersweet without even stopping to say goodbye to her? Why was he back now and why was it so important that he buy her father’s place? And why, oh, please, God, why, was she still thinking about him, wondering at her response to his kiss while hating herself for caring?

“Stop it!” she muttered, punching her pillow in frustration. She reminded herself for the millionth time that Mason Lafferty was nothing to her. Nothing!

So why was she thinking of him? Why? Why? Why? “Because you’re an idiot,” she told herself.

Knowing that sleep was impossible, she slid her arms through the sleeves of her robe and stepped into her slippers. Oscar, who had been curled up beside her, was already on his feet, stretching and yawning. He followed her into the kitchen and waited at the pantry door until she reached inside and tossed him a biscuit. While he crunched on his snack, she heated cocoa in the microwave.

Mason was a problem, but not one she could solve tonight. She needed to forget him and return to Seattle as she’d planned. Her father was recuperating at a rapid pace, and if he and Brynnie could quit fighting long enough to walk down the aisle and say their vows, then Bliss would leave Oregon and get back to her old life.

Her old, peaceful, and somewhat-boring life.

Sliding into a chair, Bliss cradled the warm cup in her hands and let the chocolate-scented steam fill her nostrils and whisper over her cheeks. She’d told herself again and again that she was over—make that long over—Mason, but tonight, while the sky was thick with clouds and the outside air dense with rain, she wasn’t so sure of her feelings.

Seeing Mason, touching Mason and kissing Mason had brought back memories, painful and tarnished. She’d spent ten years repressing her thoughts about him, trying not to compare him to other men she’d dated, hoping against hope that someday she’d never think of him at all, believing that he was just a summer fling—a schoolgirl crush. Nothing more.

Now, she was ready to second-guess herself. “Fool,” she exclaimed, and when Oscar gave out a disgruntled “Woof,” she laughed without any sense of satisfaction. “That’s right, dog, your mistress is a first-class, A-one moron, I’m afraid.”

Old feelings—excitement, anger, hurt and even a trace of first love—resurfaced. She remembered the tumbling, breathless feeling of hearing his voice or kissing him, or swimming nude in the nearby river with him. “Oh, Bliss,” she whispered, stirring the hot chocolate and creating a small whirlpool in her cup, “I thought you were smarter than this.”

The memory of the first time she’d seen him, tall and lean, covered in dust as he’d offered to lift her suitcases and trunk from the back of her father’s truck, haunted her. And tonight, alone in the kitchen of the ranch house, with only the rain and Oscar to keep her company, that memory stretched out vividly before her. It had been ten years ago, but tonight, it seemed as real as if that summer had happened yesterday. . . .