A Family Kind of Guy by Lisa Jackson Page B

hint.”
    â€œI forgot to give him the offer.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Is John around?”
    â€œYou bet I’m around,” John answered, walking in his stocking feet along the dusty patina of the hardwood floor. “What is it you’re lookin’ for—as if I didn’t know?” He glanced at his daughter and scowled. “I already told you. I ain’t sellin’. No matter what the price.”
    Bliss lifted a lofty brow, encouraging Mason, if he had the guts, to draw her father into a battle he would surely lose.
    Mason leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
    â€œSince you and Brynnie are going to tie the knot, I thought you might want to retire, see a little of the world with your new bride, take it easy.”
    â€œYou mean the old stud should be put out to pasture?” With a hoarse laugh and a scrape of his fingers against his empty shirt pocket, where he searched by habit for a nonexistent pack of cigarettes, Bliss’s father shook his head. “One measly little heart attack isn’t gonna scare me away from doin’ what I want.” He rapped his knuckles against his chest. “The old ticker’s just fine and I’m gonna run this ranch like I always have.” Again his fingers scrabbled into his pocket and he frowned when he realized that his cigarettes were gone, as his doctor had insisted he give up smoking after the heart attack. Bliss suspected that he still sneaked a puff now and again along with his chew, but she’d never caught him with a cigarette. Not that she could stop him from smoking. No one had ever been able to tell John Cawthorne how to live his life.
    Mason reached into his back pocket and drew out a long envelope that he slapped into John’s hand. “I think you’d better talk to Brynnie about this. In the meantime, here’s a formal offer—for the acres in your name.”
    â€œIn my name?” John questioned.
    â€œFair price. Good terms. Think about it.” Mason slipped his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose.
    â€œDon’t need to,” her father insisted, but he didn’t toss the envelope back at Mason as Bliss had expected. Instead, his bony fingers clamped over the manila packet.
    Mason’s gaze centered on Bliss. “I’ll see you later,” he said through lips that barely moved as he glared through his sunglasses, and Bliss had trouble drawing a breath.
    John wagged the envelope at Mason. “Just remember that a few years back we had a deal.”
    â€œA deal?” Bliss repeated.
    â€œThat’s right. Signed, sealed and delivered.” Her father’s smile was shrewd and self-serving and Bliss felt a sliver of dread enter her heart.
    â€œI haven’t forgotten.” Mason’s shoulders tightened. The skin over his face seemed to grow taut and his gaze, behind his tinted lenses, held hers briefly before he turned and strode back to his truck.
    Oscar bounded along behind him and Mason paused long enough to scratch the dog between his shoulders before climbing into the cab of his Ford.
    â€œPushy SOB,” John grumbled as the pickup tore down the lane. He was already opening the envelope, anxious to explore its contents, which surprised Bliss. For someone who was so vocally against selling the ranch—especially to Mason—John Cawthorne was certainly interested in the bottom line. But then, he always had been. That was how he’d made his money.
    Scanning the pages, he walked into the living room, picked up his reading glasses from the fireplace mantel, plopped them on the end of his nose and then settled into his favorite battered recliner.
    â€œYou know why he’s back in town, I suppose?”
    â€œOther than to try and talk you into selling?” she bantered back.
    â€œSeems he’s decided to settle down here, be closer to his kid.” He glanced up, looking over the tops of his lenses. “Can’t