A Second-Chance Proposal

Dylan smiled. A gentleman would probably retrieve the towel draped on a lounge chair near the hot tub, then turn his back as she slipped it around herself. But both options seemed kind of dull to him. He raised his eyebrows. Dare you.

He faked a yawn. “This is real comfortable. Of course, if you were to offer me a room, that would probably be even more comfy. You said you had just one guest at the moment. Which means you’ve got a few rooms available. Why not put me up?”

“Bastard,” she muttered. Then, even as he was congratulating himself on a hand well played, she added, “I’ve had enough.”

She stood, and took her time getting out of the hot tub and replacing the lid. Her body gleamed. Taut muscles, curved lines, gorgeous legs. She turned from him to reach for her towel. Methodically, she patted off the moisture beaded on her skin—then tossed the towel on the chair again.

“Good night,” she said, her hand on the patio door.

So she was really going to leave him out there, with no transportation back to town.

“About tonight…”

“Yeah?” His confidence surged. After all, she’d once loved him. He’d once been her best friend.

“There’s an extra stall in the barn,” she said. “If you’re desperate, you can have that.”

Dear Reader,

Have you noticed that the most wonderful, magical days come about, not as a result of careful planning and organization, but almost by accident? Serendipity is one of my favorite words. And the perfect example occurred several years ago when my husband and I and my two daughters, along with my husband’s father and his wife, were driving out to Kananaskis to enjoy “Mozart of the Mountain.”

A bad traffic jam had us aborting our plans and heading instead for the small mountain town of Canmore. Within half an hour of turning off the highway, we were in a large yellow raft, drifting along Alberta’s Bow River. The day was warm and bright, we still had our picnic and the scenery, dominated by the Three Sisters Mountain, amazed us all. At the end of that perfect, unplanned day we were left with a memory to treasure forever.

And I had the setting for a trilogy I’d been thinking about. The Shannon sisters have always counted on one another, especially since, like their mother, they seem to be unlucky in love. Three men are set to change all that, with three proposals as unique as the sisters who inspire them. I hope you enjoy A Second-Chance Proposal, A Convenient Proposal and A Lasting Proposal.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Please send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754—246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta T3H 3C8, Canada. Or send e-mail to: [email protected]

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thanks to those who assisted me in my research,

in particular Corporal Patrick Webb of the RCMP in Calgary, Constable Barry Beales of the RCMP Canmore Detachment and Lynn Martel, a reporter with the Canmore Leader.

This trilogy is dedicated to my editors,

Beverley Sotolov and Paula Eykelhof, with my thanks and affection.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHILLED CURRENTS of mountain air circled the Larch Lodge bed-and-breakfast and played on Cathleen Shannon’s bare wet shoulders. The cold autumn air only made the luxury of 104-degree bubbling water all the more pleasurable. Fitting her body to the sloped back of the hot tub’s molded seat, she gazed upward. A sky of restless clouds offered teasing glimpses of a fluorescent half-moon.

This is nice. She took a sip of brandy from the plastic glass she’d brought out with her. The outdoor spa had been installed this summer for the benefit of her guests, but she really should make use of it more often herself.

She sighed and sank lower, then suddenly tensed as a shadow shifted in the dark, about twenty meters away. Something, or someone, was out there. But why wasn’t Kip barking? The shape kept moving, coming closer. Oh, why had she turned off all the house lights?

Probably she was worried about nothing. Elk roamed freely over her property. Still, there was the off chance it could be a bear…. She contemplated dashing for the house, but just then, against the backdrop of moonlight, she made out the silhouette of a lanky cowboy. She recognized him immediately from the set of his shoulders and the rhythm of his gait.

Unbelievable.

And there, trotting faithfully by his boots, was her dog. The traitor.

Like a figure in a dream, the cowboy kept advancing. She couldn’t see his eyes—clouds had shifted yet again to cover the moon—but she had no doubt that he watched her every step of the way. Only when he reached the cedar skirting around the tub did he stop.