Читать книгу A Texan for Hire - Amanda Renee - Страница 9

Chapter One

Abby Winchester wasn’t used to waking up in a strange bed, let alone one in a strange town, thirteen hundred miles from home. Mazie’s Bed & Biscuit in Ramblewood, Texas, was a far cry from her early nineteenth-century row house in Charleston, South Carolina.

She sat up and yawned, replaying the events of the past month in her head. Abby’s world had been turned upside down. It had begun with the death of Walter Davidson, her biological father, and had ended with the hospital board once again turning down her animal-assisted therapy proposal. As a physical therapist, Abby was determined to increase her patients’ rehabilitation options, and despite the hospital’s latest rejection, she vowed to continue fighting for the program she so passionately believed in.

And she would have focused on a new course of action if it weren’t for one thing...the note the nurse had given her after Walter died. Scrawled in his handwriting on a piece of scrap paper were three words:

FIND YOUR SISTER.

Only one problem...Abby didn’t have a sister. Well, not one she knew of.

Even though Abby doubted the rationality of Walter’s dying words, they continued to haunt her. With no other clues to go on, she had decided to begin her search in Ramblewood, the town of her birth. After she’d driven halfway across the country in one straight shot, she was exhausted.

Abby squinted at the nightstand clock—half the morning was already gone. She forced her road-weary body out of bed, breathing deeply as her feet hit the floor. Fortunately the moving-car sensation that usually followed an extensive road trip had subsided.

Her dog, Duffy, lifted his head as Abby stood. She scratched him behind his ears then padded to the bathroom. The knobs on the freestanding vintage faucet above the claw-foot tub creaked as she turned them. It was well after midnight when she’d arrived and she’d been too tired to summon the strength to take a shower. Abby would be forever grateful that the inn’s owner, Mazie Lawson, had checked her in so late. Abby wouldn’t have been able to handle one more minute cooped up in her car.

Feeling more human after she had bathed and dressed, Abby made her way downstairs with Duffy in tow. She chose an apple-pecan muffin from the basket on the dining room sideboard as her beloved sidekick tugged her in the direction of the front door.

Once outside, they headed for the Ramblewood Bark Park. Located next door to Mazie’s Bed & Biscuit, the animal-friendly play area was an added bonus for guests of the converted Victorian inn, which catered to people traveling with their pets.

Duffy tugged on his leash as they walked through the park’s double gates. Her schnoodle couldn’t wait to run with the other dogs. Some would call her schnauzer and poodle mix a mutt, but Abby referred to him as her designer dog. Once they were securely inside, Duffy sped off to explore his new surroundings.

The pond in the middle of the park enticed panting canines to take a refreshing dip. Some dogs stood belly high, enjoying the coolness of the water—but not Duffy. He didn’t have a particular fondness for anything wet, more like a distinct hatred. He tolerated a bath. Barely. There’d be no convincing him a swim was a good thing.

Abby smiled as she watched Duffy make friends with a cute female Scottish terrier. If dogs could talk, she was pretty sure Duffy approved of this trip.

She sat on a wooden bench under a tree, perusing emails on her phone while her dog played. A slight breeze rustled the maple leaves above her head. The early September air was still heavy with Southern heat. However, the temperature didn’t bother her— One-hundred-degree days weighed down with one-hundred-percent humidity was the norm for summer in Charleston. The air in the South Carolina peninsula between the Ashley and Cooper rivers was thick with moisture most of the year. Ramblewood’s dry weather was a welcome relief. She looked up at the sound of Duffy’s barking. He barreled at her like a bull out of a chute. A black standard poodle was hot on his doggy heels. Duffy darted under Abby’s bench, pivoted and then shot underneath the poodle. The other dog scrambled to keep up.

“Is the little silver bullet yours?” An older woman with closely cropped, curly salt-and-pepper hair asked as she approached. The dogs had reached the other side of the park before Abby could finish nodding.

“Barney won’t hurt him,” the woman said. “He loves to run.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Abby said. “Duffy loves to be chased. I swear he thrives on it.”

“I can see that.” The woman laughed, joining Abby on the bench. “I’m Kay Langtry, by the way.”

“Abby Winchester,” she replied, shaking the woman’s hand. “You have a gorgeous dog.”

“Thank you. He’s quite a handful. Thirteen months and getting into everything. Barney’s new trick is counter surfing, and he’s tall enough to reach even the things I’ve pushed way to the back. I bring him out here to run in a more confined area because he wreaks havoc at the ranch—even the horses keep their distance.”

“I can imagine.” Abby watched Duffy and Barney run along the outskirts of the park. Her dog was fearless when it came to other dogs, but she could see he was keeping a safe distance from the pond. He refused to get his feet wet.

“Are you visiting someone in town?” Kay asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Abby glanced down at her jeans and T-shirt. She had thought her clothes were Texas appropriate when she threw them on earlier. Maybe she should’ve chosen a less bedazzled pair, but all of her jeans were heavily embellished with sequins and rhinestones. Now they seemed like overkill for the laid-back town. “I live in Charleston, South Carolina—originally from Pennsylvania—and I’m here on business. I’m staying next door at the Bed and Biscuit.”

“How long are you in town for?” Kay asked.

“Not sure. A week at least, two at the most.” Abby debated telling the woman her reasons for coming to Ramblewood. What harm would it do? Besides, the more people who knew her story, the more they might be able to help in her search. “I’m looking for my long-lost sister.”

“I love reunion stories.” Kay clasped her hands in her lap. “When did you two last see each other?”

“Never. My biological father recently died and left me a note telling me to find my sister. I didn’t know I had one up until that point. I thought I’d start here since I was born in Ramblewood. I’m banking on someone remembering my parents.”

“What are their names?” Kay asked.

“Walter and Maeve Davidson. They divorced when I was a year old and my mom remarried a year later.”

Kay listened intently. “Your story is better than an episode of General Hospital!” The woman’s eyes widened. “Your parents’ names don’t ring a bell. Have you considered hiring a private investigator?”

“Not really.” Abby didn’t want to admit she’d spontaneously hopped in her car and headed west on a whim. Walter’s note had troubled her more than she’d openly admitted. “I arrived in the middle of the night, and I’m not exactly sure where to start. I thought I’d stop by the courthouse first, but maybe an investigator isn’t such a bad idea, providing it doesn’t cost me a fortune. Do you know of anyone local?”

“It just so happens that I do, and I think you’ll find him to your liking.” A broad smile spread across Kay’s face as she removed a cell phone from her bag. “Clay Tanner. That boy practically grew up in my house alongside my four sons. I guess I shouldn’t call him or any of them boys anymore. But no matter how old they get, I still picture them running around my house laughing and full of mischief. He’s single, to boot.”

“Single, huh?” Abby laughed. “Kay, I’m looking for my sister, not a man.”

“I don’t see a ring on your finger, so I’d say you’re free to explore the possibilities of what Ramblewood has to offer.”

Abby had never seen a person’s eyes twinkle before, but she could have sworn Kay’s had done just that. The woman jotted Clay’s number on the back of a crumpled envelope she found in her purse and handed it to Abby.

“I wish you the best of luck and if I can be of any help, feel free to give me a call.” She pointed to the paper. “I wrote my number on there, too. I own the Bridle Dance Ranch and you’re welcome there anytime. Ask anyone in town and they’ll point you in the right direction.” Kay checked her watch. “Speaking of such, I need to head home and figure out what I’m going to serve my growing brood for lunch. You’d think once they married and moved out of the house, they’d be able to feed themselves. Instead I have double, sometimes triple, the number to feed.”

Kay rose from the bench, put two fingers to her mouth and performed a screeching whistle. Barney immediately stopped and changed direction, leaving Duffy behind. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Abby.”

“Same here.” Abby stood, and looked at the phone number in her hand. She was on a mission to find her sister. If this Clay person could help, then why not call him right away?

Her hands trembled as she entered the numbers into her phone. Sure, she wanted answers, but this man might actually find them. Up until last week, Abby had fought with herself and her family over the possibility that a sister might exist. She had figured Walter would have told her sooner if it were true, or at the very least, made it part of one of the birthday scavenger hunts he sent her on each year.

Since her parents’ divorce, Abby recalled seeing Walter maybe four or five times in her life. He had moved to the West Coast when she was still in grade school. After Abby’s brother, Wyatt, had been born, she hadn’t understood why her last name was different from the rest of the family’s. Her stepfather had offered to adopt her. Walter hadn’t put up a fight.

Almost ten years ago, on Abby’s eighteenth birthday, Walter had contacted her. He’d explained why he had walked away. He hadn’t wanted to complicate her new life. And he’d thought she would be better off without him.

Abby respected his decision and never held any ill will toward him. But even after they’d reconnected, Walter had never offered to see her. She’d never asked why either. She’d always thought there would be plenty of time for visits in the future. Now she wondered if there was more to the story.

Once Walter was back in her life, they remained in regular contact with each other. It was also when he began sending Abby an envelope every year on her birthday. Delivered by courier, the envelope never showed a return address. Inside, there were always instructions for a treasure hunt.

One year, Walter had sent her a brochure of the Delaware Water Gap and a map of Monroe County, Pennsylvania. The hunt had forced her to head home for the first time since her residency had started at the hospital a year earlier. Various clues had led her to her parents’ house. It had been Walter’s way of telling Abby she needed a break from work and was long overdue to spend time with her family.

Why hadn’t he confided in her that he’d had cancer? Things would have been different. She would have been there for him. But, Abby guessed that was the point. Walter wanted her to remember him as he was, not as a dying man in a veteran’s hospital on the other side of the country. Abby’s birthday was next month, and in her heart, she sensed this note—a three-word clue to find her sister—was Walter’s way of giving her one final gift.

No one in her family comprehended how Abby could grieve for someone she hadn’t seen since preschool when Walter had still had visitation rights—not that he’d used them very often. Even Wyatt didn’t get it, and they were close. They shared a house. Her brother simply didn’t understand what she was going through and tension had formed between them.

She sighed as she held her cell phone to her ear. “Hello, Mr. Tanner? My name’s Abby Winchester. A woman named Kay referred you to me. I need your help finding my sister.”

* * *

CLAY POCKETED HIS phone and turned to his best friend, Shane Langtry. “Your mom just sent a client my way.”

“I hope this one pays you in something other than livestock,” Shane joked as he helped Clay set a newly constructed roof on the chicken coop. “Any more animals and you’ll need a second job to keep you in feed.” He shook his head as he surveyed Clay’s modest ranch.

“Isn’t that the truth!”

“Keep your eye on that shelter over there.” Shane pointed to the farthest pigpen. “The roof support looks like it’s seen better days.”

Clay nodded, thinking about the ideas he’d had for the ranch when he’d purchased it a few years earlier. Raised in a family that raised sheep for wool, he had intended to raise alpacas, hoping to bring his father aboard once he got the farm off the ground. Watching the man manage someone else’s fiber mill when he knew his father’s heart was elsewhere pained Clay. And he felt partly responsible for it.

Money had already been tight before Clay’s birth, and it had never seemed to get any better. When his sister, Hannah, had come along twelve years later, it had been even tighter. At a young age, Clay had picked up on his parents’ financial struggles and had never asked for things that weren’t necessary.

After Clay graduated high school, he knew his father was disappointed that Clay chose to study criminal justice instead of agriculture. His father had wanted him to help run the family business. Despite his disappointment, Gage Tanner had urged his son to follow his heart. It made sense. Wool production had been slowly declining in the United States. The industry wasn’t nearly as profitable as it had been when Clay’s great-grandparents had started sheep farming seventy-five years ago.

Halfway through his time away at college, Clay’s parents had faced foreclosure. He’d offered to come home and help with the ranch, but his father told him it wouldn’t change anything. Days before the bank had been ready to auction off the Tanners’ land, they’d received a reprieve of sorts.

Their close relationship with the Langtrys had allowed his parents to keep the family home along with a handful of acres when Joe Langtry purchased the property. The sale had been enough to cover their debts, but the Tanners had been forced to sell off the sheep to other area farmers.

Clay knew the animals’ fate bothered his mother. She had prided herself on the fiber processing mill she’d built from the ground up and it nearly killed her to watch her beloved sheep taken away by the truckload.

Clay had paid for college on his own with the aid of student loans, but that hadn’t eased the regret he had for not being around when his father needed him most. Now Clay wanted to regain some of that Tanner pride and raise alpacas, which were much more valuable for their fleece.

He shook his head. He’d never imagined wanting to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, but life changed in a heartbeat—Clay was proof of that. The new ranch wouldn’t be the same as the one his family had once owned, but it would be a chance to regain their rich history in fiber production.

Clay laughed to himself. He would have gotten somewhere with his dream if more of his private investigator clients actually paid him in cash.

It didn’t matter that he told people his fees up front, the majority of the time they could barely afford his retainer. Farmers were having financial problems thanks to a multi-year drought and the ever-increasing amount of imported goods into the States. Unable to say no to the people he’d known his entire life, Clay had accepted animals as payment. He now owned a small herd of goats, more pigs than he cared to admit and enough chickens to warrant constructing an addition on the coop. He kept what he could afford, the rest he sold. Except for the chickens, which earned their keep by providing breakfast on most days. The remaining eggs his neighbor graciously sold for him at her farm stand. It didn’t make him a great businessman, but helping his clients helped ease his conscience a bit. He had more than his share of sins to atone for.

“Thanks for helping me out this morning.” Clay tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his back pocket, irritated that he’d allowed the past to disturb his thoughts. He kept himself constantly busy for that exact reason. To forget. “I need to clean up and head out to The Magpie to meet my potential client.”

He enjoyed being a private investigator, which was more than he’d anticipated. He had viewed it as a temporary layover after leaving his job at the Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives field office in Houston. Reuniting people was his favorite part of the job, something Clay knew he’d never have the chance to experience himself.

“Man or woman?” Shane asked.

“Woman.” Clay snorted. “What does it matter?”

“A woman, huh?” Shane smiled and pushed his hat back. “Maybe she’s hot, thinks her husband’s cheating on her and is seeking revenge by having an affair with her private investigator.”

“I think your wife has you watching too many Lifetime movies.” Clay had never thought he’d see the day his friend would become a one-woman man, but marriage suited Shane.

“And I think you need a woman in your life.”

“Just because you and Lexi got hitched last year doesn’t mean the rest of us need or even want to walk down the aisle. Let it go. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Shane removed his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “Ever since you moved back to town, you’ve been a shell of who you used to be. I get it. Someone broke your heart, but come on, Clay, it’s been almost three years and you haven’t gone out with anyone. Hell, you haven’t even unpacked your house yet. That’s not normal.”

Clay swallowed. “I’ve been busy.” He averted his eyes from Shane’s. It was more than a broken heart, though. He was still too raw to discuss with Shane, or anyone, what had happened to the only woman he’d ever loved. Clay hated the concern he saw in his friend’s face. It wasn’t necessary. He was fine—as long as he stayed busy, he was fine. Turning around, he grabbed his tools and tossed them into the five-gallon utility bucket. “Why are you bringing this up now? It hasn’t bothered you before.”

“Because I didn’t realize how bad it still was until I went inside to use your bathroom earlier. It’s the first time I’ve been inside your house in ages. You’re always at our place. Your house hasn’t changed since you moved in. What’s going on?”

“Leave it alone, Shane.” Clay spun and faced his friend. “I haven’t decided what I’m doing with the house yet, and if I rip out the walls downstairs, I’d have to pack everything up anyway. Remodeling takes time and I don’t have it right now.”

Shane replaced his hat on top of his head and held up his hands. Despite his friend’s gesture, Clay knew Shane wasn’t buying his excuse.

“Say no more. Sorry I mentioned it. Just know if you need any help—remodeling—I’m here for you.” He pointed to the chicken coop. “Let’s nail the roof on before I go.”

“I’ll do it when I get back.” Clay wanted this conversation to end—scratch that, he needed Shane to drop the subject...permanently. The sudden awkwardness between them seemed a mile wide. “I have to clean up and head out in a few. Thanks again for your help and I’ll catch up with you later.”

Clay headed for his 1940s farm house, leaving Shane no opportunity to say another word. He climbed up the porch stairs. Once inside, he closed the door and stared through the kitchen into the dark dining room. The room was filled with boxes instead of a dining table and chairs. He didn’t own much, but whatever he did was in those boxes. So were the memories of the woman and child he loved more than anything. Their deaths were on his hands and Clay wasn’t ready to let go...not yet.

* * *

IT WAS AFTER LUNCH when Abby poked her head through the entrance of The Magpie. The intoxicating aroma of fresh brewed coffee, baked bread and bacon enveloped her.

This is where he wants to meet me? A luncheonette?

“Don’t be shy.” A fiftysomething woman with a trendy layered bob called out as she entered the kitchen carrying an armful of dirty dishes. “Have a seat anywhere.”

Not that there was anything wrong with meeting in a luncheonette, it just wasn’t where Abby thought a P.I. should meet a client for the first time. For one, it wasn’t private, and in her opinion, it wasn’t professional, either. But Kay had raved about him. Though a stranger’s word didn’t really mean much, it was all she had to go on. Her heels clicked as she crossed the black-and-white checkerboard floor, the sound alerting her to how overdressed she was for somewhere this casual. She smoothed the front of her skirt and looked around.

The place was small and cozy with only a handful of people occupying the tables. Abby locked in on the man sitting at the counter. She was no private investigator, but she was willing to bet he was Clay Tanner.

The tightening in her chest at the sight of his angular jaw and tousled, sandy blond hair took her a bit off guard. His white long-sleeve Western shirt stretched across broad shoulders. A straw Stetson perched on the stool beside him.

Maybe there was something to Kay’s matchmaking, after all.

Abby halted as a statuesque waitress leaned on the counter, her face close to Clay’s. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of serving you twice today?” The ringlets of her ginger ponytail bounced with each word. Her pink uniform and white apron were a throwback to the fifties. The outfit worked for her. Not many people could pull off that look.

“I’m meeting a client here,” the man drawled.

Not one to miss a cue, Abby drew her five-foot-one-inch frame straighter—she was five-five if she included the heels—and approached the man.

“I believe you’re waiting for me,” Abby said.

He met her eyes and held them, not giving her the typical male once-over she usually received. Abby wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or disappointed.

He’s just polite. Real men don’t treat women as objects.

Screw polite. Abby wanted to give him the once-over, but she maintained eye contact for fear that, if she didn’t, she’d lose all control of her senses. She didn’t want to start panting over the man!

“I’m Abby Winchester.”

Deep sapphire-blue eyes flashed and somewhere in his face there was a hint of a smile. It made her wonder if he was one of those men who didn’t want you to think they were interested in you, even though they really were.

He gestured to the waitress that he was moving to one of the vacant booths across from the counter, and then returned his attention to her. “Abby Winchester.” The soothing way he said her name had her wanting to hear it again. He rose, long and lean, and held out his hand. Even with her wearing heels, he was a good foot taller than Abby. “Clay Tanner. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The warmth of his grip radiated up her arm, causing a slight tremor along her spine. He motioned for her to have a seat in the booth. She slid in, tugging at the hem of her short houndstooth skirt to prevent it from riding farther up her thighs and becoming a belt. Some clothes weren’t meant for booth-scooting.

“Mr. Tanner.” Abby removed a black-and-white file folder from her Balenciaga tote and pushed it across the table. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to go on.”

“Hi, I’m Bridgett. Welcome to The Magpie.” Startled, Abby looked up at the woman. What she wouldn’t give to have legs that long. The waitress placed two glasses of water on the table and handed her a menu.

Abby didn’t need to look at it. She knew exactly what she wanted. The scent of bacon beckoned, causing her to crave her favorite sandwich.

“I’ll have a BLT on white toast, mayo on the side and an order of fries.” She returned the menu. “And a black coffee, please.”

“Sure thing, hon,” Bridgett said. “What about you, Clay? Bert made that jalapeño crawfish chowder you love so much.”

“How can I say no?” He beamed at the waitress.

“Coming right up.”

Abby followed Clay’s eyes and was pleasantly surprised when they didn’t wander to Bridgett’s retreating backside. Was it possible gentlemen still existed?

“Designer folder?” Clay opened the black-and-white fleur-de-lis file, revealing its hot-pink lining. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

“There is nothing wrong with being fashionably organized, Mr. Tanner.” She had purposely purchased the folder at the stationer’s to match the outfit she had chosen for their meeting. But now she felt silly.

“I’m not saying there is.” He leaned back against the booth. “However, if we’re going to work together, I insist you call me Clay. Mr. Tanner is my father.”

“Agreed,” Abby nodded. “Those are copies of my birth certificate and my father’s death certificate.”

Clay flipped through the pages. “Both documents list a different father.”

“My mom remarried when I was two. My stepfather adopted me years later. Legally, it changed all my records naming him as my father, but it didn’t sever my rights as Walter’s next of kin. A copy of all court records and my adoption are in there.”

“What makes you think you have a sister?”

“I arrived at the hospital the day after Walter died and a nurse gave me a handwritten note. She said he was adamant I received it. It said find your sister. Nothing more.”

“Do you have the note?” Clay asked.

“On me? No.” The piece of scrap paper was all Abby had left of her biological father. It was home, tucked safely in a drawer so she wouldn’t lose it. She’d never thought to keep any of his treasure hunts. Then again, she’d never expected their time to end so soon. “I assure you, that’s all there was.”

“The note didn’t seem strange to you at all?”

Abby blinked back tears. “No. Notes were our thing. Every year for my birthday, Walter sent me a clue and I had to search for my real gift. It was never anything of monetary value—it was always something much greater. I guess you could say this is my final clue, a few weeks before my birthday. I need to know what it means. I’m hoping you can help me figure it out.”

“I promise to do my best.” Clay rested his hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

His touch rocketed through her. The forwardness alone should have sent Abby in the other direction. Instead, she found his simple gesture comforting, understanding.

“Thank you. Ours was an unconventional relationship, and as strange as all this must sound, it worked for us. I had no idea he was sick until it was too late.”

Clay gave her hand a brief squeeze before he withdrew and continued studying the contents of the folder. Instantly, Abby missed his touch and wanted to say, please don’t let go yet. Just a few more minutes. But she needed to find the meaning of Walter’s note, not send the man running in the opposite direction.

“I see you were born here,” Clay said over the top of the folder.

“Walter was stationed at Randolph Air Force Base when I was born. My parents rented an apartment here in Ramblewood until on-base housing became available, but I’m not sure how long they lived here. My mom hasn’t been very forthcoming with any information. I figured Ramblewood was the best place to start. I’m hoping you can find someone here who remembers them.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Here you are.” Bridgett set their food on the table. “Holler if you need anything else.”

Abby inhaled the scent of her BLT. She twisted the top off the ketchup bottle and smacked the bottom of it until it poured onto her fries.

“I don’t know how old she is, or if she exists.”

Clay remained silent. Abby looked up to find him staring at her incredulously. She placed the bottle on the table and shrugged. “What? I like ketchup.”

Eyes wide, he asked, “You don’t know how old your sister is or if she’s real?”

“This is all news to me. The nurse said my father wrote the note hours before he died. Deathbed confessions being what they are, I thought there might be something to it. Although my mother and father—I call my stepdad my father because he raised me so he earned that title—never heard of any sister. My mom says if one existed, she would have known about her since she had remained in contact with his family. Given that Walter was in the service and stationed overseas for a while, anything is possible.”

“So I’m looking for a woman in no particular age range, possibly not even in this country, who may or may not exist?”

“I know this is a long shot. Logic tells me she’s younger—maybe there was someone else after my mom and Walter split, although no one I’ve spoken with on his side of the family knows anything, either. A part of me wonders if this is why my parents divorced. Mom has been quick to dismiss it, which makes me even more curious.”

Clay didn’t respond. He ate a few spoonfuls of chowder and reviewed the documents along with the sparse notes she had jotted down. Abby dove into her sandwich, studying him.

If she’d met Clay on the street, she wouldn’t have guessed he was a private investigator. Physically, he was more the actor or country singer type with his high cheekbones and the dark blond stubble along his jawline. Clean-cut meets cowboy. He was definitely easy on the eyes, and Abby wondered why he was still single. Not that it was any of her business, but Kay had made it a point to tell her that much.

“Before I take a case,” he said. “I have to let you know in advance that I run a background check on all my clients. It’s standard practice, so if there’s anything you need to tell me, please let me know now.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

Clay regarded her from across the table, and she fidgeted in her seat. She knew she probably appeared desperate, but she needed Clay to help find out if her father’s message was true. With only two weeks off from work, Abby was on a definite time crunch. Even if Walter hadn’t written the note, she needed the break from the hospital. And, it gave her time to plan her next animal-assisted therapy proposal. Giving up wasn’t an option when her patients’ well-being was at stake.

Clay cleared his throat and she met his questioning look. “Assuming nothing turns up in your background check, I’ll start with the court house and military records to see what I can discover. Do you know how long he was stationed at Randolph Air Force Base?”

Abby shook her head. She didn’t have much information to offer him. Her internet searches on her biological dad hadn’t turned up anything.

“Do you always meet your clients here?” she asked, taking another bite of her sandwich.

“I meet them wherever it’s convenient. I don’t have an office, per se. I have clients scattered throughout this and the neighboring counties so I usually go to them.”

“I couldn’t find any record of you online,” she said, in between bites of her fries.

Clay laughed and pulled a napkin from the chrome dispenser on the table. He wiped his mouth. “Investigating me now, huh?”

“I’m hiring you to handle a significant matter. If this sister exists, it will change both of our lives, so yes, I did some research on you.”

“Well, it’s definitely a challenging case, but if she’s out there, I’ll do everything in my power to find her. Just be forewarned of one thing. If I do locate her and she doesn’t want you to have her contact information, I can’t give it to you.”

Abby almost dropped her sandwich. “That hardly seems fair. What kind of backwards law is that?”

“Technically it’s not, but it should be. It’s strictly ethics based—my ethics—and any investigator worth his or her salt will tell you the same thing. You have no idea how many cases I’ve turned away because an abusive husband is trying to find out where his wife ran off to with the kids. That’s why most investigators run a background check on their clients first.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Abby hated to think Clay could possibly unearth the answers she wanted and then not share them with her. “Kay speaks highly of you, and although I just met her today, I’m taking her word for it. But it still doesn’t explain why I couldn’t find you online.”

Clay grinned, his left brow rising a fraction. “Kay’s been a second mother to me and one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. I swear I spent more time at her house than I did at my own when I was growing up. Now that I think about, it still holds true today. To help ease your mind, I’m a retired Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms field agent turned private investigator. The reason I’m not online is because I don’t advertise. I rely solely on word of mouth. Did Kay happen to mention anything else while she was at it?”

Abby swore she saw a slight tinge of color spread across Clay’s face, and she wasn’t sure if it was the jalapeño chowder or the question itself. Either way, she found it endearing.

“Kay made a point to tell me you’re single.”

“I had a feeling she did.” The edges of his mouth curled upward as he kept his eyes on his lunch. “I love her to death, but she’s a bit of a matchmaker.”

“How’s my favorite customer this morning?” The woman who had greeted Abby when she first arrived stood at the edge of the booth, patting Clay’s shoulder. Her laugh lines deepened as she grinned. “If you talk to your momma today, tell her to stop in. I made her favorite rum-vanilla cream pie.”

“Will do.” Clay turned to Abby. “Abby Winchester, this is Maggie Dalton, The Magpie’s infamous owner.”

“Infamous!” the woman howled. “I’m a lot of things, but none of them infamous. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Abby. I hope you enjoy your stay in Ramblewood.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Abby shook the woman’s hand. “Did you say rum-vanilla cream pie? Sounds scrumptious.”

“Oh, honey, let me cut you a slice.” Maggie rushed off to the kitchen before Abby could object, which was fine by her. She was never one to turn down a slice of pie.

“She seems nice.” Abby reached into her bag and handed Clay a prewritten check, confident Kay had sent her in the right direction. “This is your retainer. And, yes, I’m paying you now because you won’t find anything derogatory about me when you do your background search. I added a little more than what we discussed over the phone because I don’t want the possibility of extra expenses causing any delays.”

Clay took a sip of coffee and folded her check in half, tucking it into his shirt pocket. “I won’t know what we’re looking at until I start digging around. When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned you’d only be in town for two weeks. I can’t promise I’ll have anything by then. There are quite a few unknown factors in this case, but I’ll give you a status update every couple of days.”

“Here you go.” Maggie placed two slices of pie in front of them. “It’s on me, welcoming you to town.”

Abby smiled. “Thank you.” The scents of vanilla bean and rich custard wafted upward. If she could, she’d bottle the scent and bathe in it. She ran the side of her fork through the tip of the slice and lifted it to her mouth. Whipped cream melted into rum, with a slight tang that danced across her tongue.

“Oh, Maggie.” Abby’s eyes closed in bliss. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Enjoy.” The woman left them to their dessert.

“Uh-oh,” Clay teased. “The Magpie has claimed another victim. You will forever crave Maggie’s pies from this point forward.”

“I swear.” Abby waved her fork above the pie, taking another bite. “This is better than sex.”

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty darn good, but darling, if you think pie is better than sex, you’re doing it all wrong.” He winked.

Abby folded her arms across her chest and laughed. “You may just have a point there.”

She finished her pie, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I’m staying at Mazie’s Bed and Biscuit if you need me. I wrote my cell number on the inside of the folder even though I’m sure you already have it on your phone. I’ll leave you to your work.”

She swung her legs out from under the table, holding on to her skirt for dear life. Note to self, wear booth-appropriate clothing for future meetings. When she pulled her wallet from her bag, Clay rose and placed his hand on hers. There was that damn surge through her body again.

“Lunch is on me.” Clay’s hand lingered, giving hers another gentle squeeze. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

Abby fought the urge to reach up and give him a thank-you kiss, but thought better of it. No need to embarrass herself. His touch felt warm and comfortable, and after the past month, she needed human contact. She needed a hug, dammit—but she’d settle for this—for now.

* * *

THE CURVE OF Abby’s toned calves caught Clay’s eye as she headed for the door. How in the world she teetered on heels that high was beyond him. However, he appreciated the way they made her legs seem endless. The short skirt she wore added to the effect. What she lacked in height, Abby Winchester made up in confidence.

Although she was a bit too fancy for these parts, she definitely made the blood pump through his veins a little faster. But Abby was a client, and he knew enough not to mix business with pleasure. He’d made that mistake once and he’d have to live with the aftermath of it for the rest of his life.

Kay had sent Abby his way and now he wondered if it was because she thought he was the man for the job or if she thought he was the man for Abby. He didn’t understand why the Langtrys had a sudden interest in his love life. It wouldn’t be fair for any woman to get involved with him, not when he had nothing left to give.

Regardless of Kay’s reasons, Clay had a job to do, and until it was complete, he wasn’t going to lose sight of who Abby was. A client. He just wished she hadn’t run off so quickly after they had finished their pie. Another cup of coffee would have given him the opportunity to ask her a little more about her family and herself...purely for investigative purposes.

Clay had to admit, this was definitely his most difficult locate case since he’d become a private investigator. Nothing like zero information to go on. He redirected his attention to the papers before him. In a small town like Ramblewood, someone was bound to remember Abby’s family.

“Refill?” Bridgett held the pot over his cup.

“Yes, please.” Bridgett Jameson—here was a woman any man would be lucky to settle down with. His friend Jon Reese had a crush on her. If she’d only give the poor guy a chance. “Are you sure you won’t let Jon take you to the movies this weekend?”

“I’m sorry, Clay, he’s not the one,” she called over her shoulder, walking behind the counter.

The one. Clay had had his one and he’d lost her. He admired Bridgett for holding out, and he hoped once she found him, she held on tight. Life was too short, too fragile. In a matter of seconds, it could blow up in your face, taking all you loved with it.