Page 95 of Her Boss, Her Rancher: Sunrise On The Ranch

Mostly he just wanted to see her. Why wouldn’t she take his calls? They had to talk again.

What would he have to do to get her back into his life? Promise to not mention marriage? He remembered Sierra urging him to call his dad—would that get her to talk to him again?

If he hoped to ever get Sierra back in his life, he suspected he would have to change his attitude toward his father. He remembered her asking if he had ever tried to call his father and find out more about the man.

Blake hadn’t ever gotten past his hurt and anger enough to do so before, but he began rethinking things. A phone call was a simple matter. He had nothing to lose. Having lunch together wouldn’t be a big deal, and if his father said no, at least he would have tried. If he called—even if his father wouldn’t talk to him—maybe that would soften Sierra’s attitude.

He suspected his father wouldn’t be one bit more eager to talk to Blake than Blake was to talk to him, but then Blake could tell Sierra he had called his father.

Cade knew how to get hold of the man, so Blake sent Cade a text asking for the number to talk to their dad. He received a prompt reply:Do I need to get an ambulance for you?

He fired back,Not yet.

Staring at the number, he sat a long time, still debating with himself. “So, what the hell?” he finally asked aloud. If his dad wouldn’t take the call, so what? That wouldn’t be a change from their relationship all of Blake’s life. He dialed, and in seconds he heard a voice he didn’t even recognize. Taking a deep breath, expecting the connection to be broken within a minute, he knew he had nothing to lose.

“This is Blake Callahan,” he said, wondering if the man would even acknowledge him. “I feel that I should address you as Mr. Callahan. I don’t know you well enough to call you anything else.”

“This is a surprise,” said a deep voice.

Through the years, Blake had seen pictures of his father, but none recently. Would he even recognize him? He used to see a family resemblance sometimes.

“I called to see if we can have lunch soon. I think it’s time I met you.”

The silence stretched between them. “I live in California now.”

“I’m working out there, so that’s fine. I can meet you wherever you want,” Blake said, amazed he was asking his father to have lunch.

“Lunch would be a good idea. Are you familiar with San Francisco? I live in Carmel, but we’ll have more privacy in San Francisco.”

“San Francisco sounds fine,” Blake answered, shocked that this was actually happening.

“Good. There’s a restaurant that’s popular—Patterson Place. How’s that?”

“I’ll make reservations for two. How about Thursday at noon?”

“Thursday is good. I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you there.” He was tempted to ask how they would recognize each other, but held off. He knew he would at least recognize his father.

The call ended, and Blake wondered whether the man would actually show.

On Thursday Blake arrived twenty minutes early and ordered iced tea, then settled back to wait. It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be to recognize Dirkson Callahan. Blake was mildly shocked, because he looked more frail than Blake had expected. He was thin and wrinkled, with white hair around his face and streaking his black hair. He wore wire-frame glasses, which was another surprise—but Blake had been a small child the last time he had actually seen his father in person.

Blake stood when he saw Dirkson survey the restaurant crowd and pass over him without another glance. Blake threaded his way across the room and was halfway to the front before the older man spotted him and waved slightly, coming toward Blake. He headed back to the table.

Continuing to stand, he waited until his father reached him and offered his hand. Blake had wondered if his father would even give him the courtesy of shaking hands. “Mr. Callahan,” he said, feeling a strange mixture of emotions that flashed through him like lightning.

In his memory, his father had always loomed as powerful and formidable. In reality, he was not threatening in any manner. Blake could see only a faint family resemblance, and Dirkson didn’t give the appearance of wealth or success. He could easily be the wealthiest man in the restaurant, but Blake didn’t think anyone who saw him would even remotely guess he had such wealth unless they knew his identity.

To Blake’s surprise, he experienced a streak of guilt. Through all his efforts to damage his father’s hotel business, Blake had envisioned an opponent who was strong, powerful and invincible, not the elderly gentleman facing him. Dirkson had to have someone handling the media, and he must be using photos from several years back, or touched-up photos.

“Have a seat, sir,” Blake said politely, still studying his father intently.

“Blake, please don’t be so formal. It’s a little late for Dad, so why don’t you call me Dirkson? There’s no more need for you to address me as Mr. Callahan than there is for me to call you by that name.”

Blake had to smile. “Fine. It does seem awkward.” As they sat facing each other, Blake continued to study his father, noticing details, curious about this man who was a mystery and a stranger, even though they had the same blood in their veins and might be more alike than either one wanted.

Curiosity nagged at Blake. “Did you drive from Carmel?”