Read Online A Family Kind of Guy by Lisa Jackson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Jackson
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wouldnât expect me to give up what I love.â
âIâm not suggesting anything of the sort. And Mom would neverââ
âUnless she got herself conned into it.â 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. âI think Iâd better call my lawyer.â
âWhy?â
âJust to make sure Lafferty doesnât try to pull a fast one.
* * *
âDamn it all to hell,â 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.
Climbing out of the cab, he spied Tiffany Santini, the widow who owned the place, clipping a few rosebuds from the garden. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, she was pleasant and pretty, the kind of woman who took to mothering like a duck to water. Mason didnât know much about her, but he liked the way she dealt with her kidsâa teenage boy and a girl of three or four.
He waved and she smiled, hoisting a gloved hand as her little girl chased a black cat through the rhododendrons flanking the back porch.
Mason had decided to rent while he was negotiating for a ranch of his own and had chosen this complex over more modern units because he felt more at home in this charming older place, which had a backyard with a play structure that Dee Dee could use whenever she came over.
He walked up the outside stairs, unlocked the door and stepped into his living room. It was sparsely furnished with only the bare essentials. The hardwood floors were begging for throw rugs and the stark walls could have used more than a splash or two of color. But all that would come laterâonce heâd moved into a permanent place.
At Cawthorne Acres.
For the first time he wondered if his insisting on buying old John out was wise. True, Brynnie had come to him and heâd jumped at the chance to own a spread heâd fallen in love with as a kid, but now, with the old manâs heart condition and Bliss thrown into the picture, he wasnât so sure that heâd made the right decision.
What was the old saying? Buy in Haste, Regret at Leisure. That was it. He hoped it didnât apply in his case.
In the kitchen he tossed his keys on the counter and reached for a glass. Pouring himself a stiff shot of bourbon, he tried to erase Bliss and the complications of dealing with her and her father from his mind. But it didnât work. Ever since seeing her yesterday afternoon and again this morning, heâd thought of herâeven made an excuse to give Cawthorne his offer in person so that he could see her again.
Bliss Cawthorne, all grown up. He remembered her as she had been ten years earlier with honey-blond hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers. Sheâd been a smart mouth at the time, a big-city girl who was pretty and damned well knew it. A dusting of freckles had bridged her nose and sheâd been tanned all over from hours of swimming in the river.
Mason had been working for old man Cawthorne, and although all the other hired hands had warned him that the bossâs daughter was off-limits, he hadnât been able to keep himself away. Which was where all the trouble had begun and ended.
He tossed back a long swallow of his drink and felt the alcohol burn a welcome path down his throat. Why did he torture himself with thoughts of her? Why couldnât he think of her as nothing more than a love affair gone sour?
Because youâre a fool, Lafferty. You always have been, where that woman is concerned.
He finished his drink in
âIâm not suggesting anything of the sort. And Mom would neverââ
âUnless she got herself conned into it.â 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. âI think Iâd better call my lawyer.â
âWhy?â
âJust to make sure Lafferty doesnât try to pull a fast one.
* * *
âDamn it all to hell,â 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.
Climbing out of the cab, he spied Tiffany Santini, the widow who owned the place, clipping a few rosebuds from the garden. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, she was pleasant and pretty, the kind of woman who took to mothering like a duck to water. Mason didnât know much about her, but he liked the way she dealt with her kidsâa teenage boy and a girl of three or four.
He waved and she smiled, hoisting a gloved hand as her little girl chased a black cat through the rhododendrons flanking the back porch.
Mason had decided to rent while he was negotiating for a ranch of his own and had chosen this complex over more modern units because he felt more at home in this charming older place, which had a backyard with a play structure that Dee Dee could use whenever she came over.
He walked up the outside stairs, unlocked the door and stepped into his living room. It was sparsely furnished with only the bare essentials. The hardwood floors were begging for throw rugs and the stark walls could have used more than a splash or two of color. But all that would come laterâonce heâd moved into a permanent place.
At Cawthorne Acres.
For the first time he wondered if his insisting on buying old John out was wise. True, Brynnie had come to him and heâd jumped at the chance to own a spread heâd fallen in love with as a kid, but now, with the old manâs heart condition and Bliss thrown into the picture, he wasnât so sure that heâd made the right decision.
What was the old saying? Buy in Haste, Regret at Leisure. That was it. He hoped it didnât apply in his case.
In the kitchen he tossed his keys on the counter and reached for a glass. Pouring himself a stiff shot of bourbon, he tried to erase Bliss and the complications of dealing with her and her father from his mind. But it didnât work. Ever since seeing her yesterday afternoon and again this morning, heâd thought of herâeven made an excuse to give Cawthorne his offer in person so that he could see her again.
Bliss Cawthorne, all grown up. He remembered her as she had been ten years earlier with honey-blond hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers. Sheâd been a smart mouth at the time, a big-city girl who was pretty and damned well knew it. A dusting of freckles had bridged her nose and sheâd been tanned all over from hours of swimming in the river.
Mason had been working for old man Cawthorne, and although all the other hired hands had warned him that the bossâs daughter was off-limits, he hadnât been able to keep himself away. Which was where all the trouble had begun and ended.
He tossed back a long swallow of his drink and felt the alcohol burn a welcome path down his throat. Why did he torture himself with thoughts of her? Why couldnât he think of her as nothing more than a love affair gone sour?
Because youâre a fool, Lafferty. You always have been, where that woman is concerned.
He finished his drink in
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