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A Texan for Hire
Amanda Renee


FIND YOUR SISTERThree words scrawled on a piece of paper just upended Abby Winchester's world. She'd never known she even had a sister. Abby's sure she'll learn the truth after traveling to the sleepy Texas town where she was born. And tall, brooding Clay Tanner may find the answers she needs, even if he does look more like a cowboy than a PI.The petite blonde who just hired him is tempting Clay to break his rule not to get involved with a client. But the former ATF agent isn't ready for a relationship - not after what once happened on his watch. Still, helping Abby uncover family secrets makes him wonder if it's time to put his own past to rest. Is Abby willing to face an uncertain future - together?







FIND YOUR SISTER

Three words scrawled on a piece of paper just upended Abby Winchester’s world. She’d never known she even had a sister. Abby’s sure she’ll learn the truth after traveling to the sleepy Texas town where she was born. And tall, brooding Clay Tanner may find the answers she needs, even if he does look more like a cowboy than a PI.

The petite blonde who just hired him is tempting Clay to break his rule not to get involved with a client. But the former ATF agent isn’t ready for a relationship—not after what once happened on his watch. Still, helping Abby uncover family secrets makes him wonder if it’s time to put his own past to rest. Is Abby willing to face an uncertain future—together?


“Have some fun and loosen up a little.”

Abby shimmied her shoulders side to side for emphasis.

“I’m loose.” Clay shook his own shoulders.

“Prove it!” she yelled above the music.

She threw herself into Clay’s arms, and he spun her around on stage feeling freer than he had in years. Her face was inches from his and her lips parted when their eyes met. He closed his for a moment and that was all it took for Clay to forget where they were...

His lips crashed down on hers, pent-up frustration colliding with his desire for the one woman who had turned his head for the first time in years.

When he finally heard the whoops and howls from the crowd, he released her. Abby stared up at him for a moment before hopping off the stage, leaving Clay to stand in the spotlight alone.


Dear Reader (#u798dc167-f996-5b66-8f47-af1ba968ae77),

Sometimes ideas for books come from the craziest of places. A Texan for Hire came about when I was flipping through a Yankee Candle catalog. One of the scented pages instantly transported me to Ramblewood, Texas, and there stood Clay Tanner and Abby Winchester. I saw them so vividly that I stayed up all night outlining the first draft of this book. Subsequently, when I purchased my Mini Cooper shortly thereafter, I named it Abby—and when you read this book, you’ll understand why. While Clay and Abby weren’t originally part of the Ramblewood series, Clay’s story was too important not to have a book of his own, and Abby’s arrival in town will uncover almost three decades of secrets. Ramblewood will never be the same.

I’d like to thank David Canton from My Texas P.I. for his willingness to educate me on the ins and outs of private investigating. His advice was invaluable.

Feel free to stop in and visit me at amandarenee.com (http://www.amandarenee.com/). I’d love to hear from you. Happy reading!

Amanda Renee


A Texan for Hire

Amanda Renee






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


AMANDA RENEE was raised in the northeast and now wriggles her toes in the warm sand of coastal South Carolina. She was discovered through Mills & Boon’s So You Think You Can Write contest and began writing for the American Romance line. When not creating stories about love, laughter and things that go bump in the night, she enjoys the company of her schnoodle, Duffy, photography, playing guitar and anything involving horses. You can visit her at amandarenee.com (http://www.amandarenee.com/).


For Duffy...you define unconditional love.


Contents

Cover (#ud3849e73-464a-555d-af0c-8b67fce939bd)

Back Cover Text (#u0da32a20-e1f6-50f9-967b-f59031129b9d)

Introduction (#uad12b264-a816-533e-9225-d4c193fe55ec)

Dear Reader

Title Page (#u0d49b776-eaab-5e4e-8740-7884b82dec0d)

About the Author (#u4c04ba87-9a0e-509a-8659-a7cee7b771aa)

Dedication (#uf5b8f7d4-5014-5b30-8d05-cfa0aee6c3f1)

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

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u798dc167-f996-5b66-8f47-af1ba968ae77)

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.


Chapter Two (#u798dc167-f996-5b66-8f47-af1ba968ae77)

“He’s definitely single,” Mazie said over breakfast the next morning as she and Abby sat at the large dining table with a few of the other guests. “I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he moved back to town a few years ago.”

“Interesting.” Abby fiddled with her fork.

“I’m willing to bet if you head down the road to Slater’s Mill tonight, you’ll find him there, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Slater’s Mill?” An unexplained wave of anticipation washed over Abby at the thought of seeing Clay again.

“It’s a little honky-tonk a few blocks away. They have a big dance floor and there’s a band playing most nights. Just continue down Shelby and you’ll see it on your left. If you cross Cooter Creek you went too far.”

Abby immediately tried to visualize her clothing options, realizing her suitcase didn’t offer much by way of evening clothes. A social life after the sun set had never crossed her mind, so she had packed knitting needles and yarn, instead. She wasn’t usually this unprepared. She habitually overpacked when traveling. But once she’d decided to head to Ramblewood, she had focused solely on finding her sister, not the local bar scene.

“Is there any place I can buy something to wear tonight?”

“There’s Cowpokes across the street, but that’s more Western wear. You look more like the Margarita’s Ragpatch type. It’s one block down past the cleaner’s and Promise Travel. Big store, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks for your help.”

Why did she care what she wore in front of a man she wouldn’t be around long enough to know much about? Between problems at work and the search for her sister, she didn’t have room in her life for a relationship, even a temporary one. If she were being honest with herself, though, she’d never felt more alone than she did now. Abby sensed Clay understood where she was coming from.

There had been a look of recognition in his eyes when she’d told him about Walter. His comforting touch had given Abby the impression he’d gone through similar grief.

Anyway, what was wrong with some much-needed, lighthearted fun—with the opposite sex? Normally, the thought of hitting a club was a drag, but that was because her coworkers and Wyatt usually brought dates.

After Abby found a dress and boots at Margarita’s Ragpatch, she headed back to the Bed & Biscuit. Perched on the edge of her four-poster bed, Duffy rested alongside her, exhausted from another afternoon romp at the Bark Park.

The room was larger than she had envisioned it would be when she had read the online brochure. Quintessential Victorian, yet one hundred percent pet safe. A romantic, floral stencil covered the walls, which meant no loose wallpaper seams to entice curious animals to pull.

On the bed laid a heavily embossed, yet easily laundered matelassé coverlet. Every piece of furniture was tall, with open access underneath for pets to retreat to, if they so pleased. Bed steps allowed older pets, and more petite guests, to settle in for the evening with little effort—a feature Abby was particularly happy to see. Needing a running head start in order to leap into bed was not her idea of a nightcap.

Safety covers protected electrical outlets so wayward paws and curious noses didn’t poke where they shouldn’t. The room was free of lace so small nails wouldn’t snag. Nothing dangled to beguile its furry occupants.

Pet guests received a Mazie’s Bed & Biscuit placemat under their elevated food dishes. Amenities included fresh food bowls twice daily, filtered spring water and a dog-walking service, in case a pet owner was out longer than expected. Mazie brought the term creature comforts to an entirely new level, emphasizing the importance of pets to their human counterparts. Abby could use more people like Mazie on the hospital board, then maybe she’d get somewhere.

“I wish I had some answers, Duffy.” Soft snores emanated from the stretched-out form next to her. “Oh, sure, sleep your way through my troubles.”

Abby hated the abrupt way she had left her job the other day, but the combination of her defeat and Walter’s note had gotten the best of her. A break to reevaluate her situation was in order.

Physical therapy was her lifeblood, and she wanted to give her patients every opportunity to improve their lives. She had devoted seven years of school and two years in the field to helping others, and she refused to settle. She just hadn’t found the winning combination to sway the hospital to use pet therapy, but Abby was confident they’d see things her way eventually. Failure was not an option.

She checked the clock. It was an hour later in South Carolina than Ramblewood, but she took the chance her supervisor would still be working. The phone rang twice. “Physical Therapy, Angela speaking.”

“Hello, it’s Abby.” She peeked out the window and admired a couple holding hands as they crossed the street. “How are my patients doing?”

“Hey, girl.” Angela’s voice sounded tired. “They’re good. They keep asking about you, though. You did take off rather suddenly.”

“I know, but it couldn’t be helped. Please tell everyone I’m thinking of them. Has there been any further improvement with Donald Davis?”

“Some,” Angela sighed. “Although he isn’t as cooperative with the other therapists.”

Abby groaned. She felt horrible for abandoning her patients without explanation, but she knew they were in capable hands. Her colleagues were some of the best in the state, and many of them supported her bid for animal-assisted therapy. No matter their qualifications, some of her long-term inpatients had a harder time adjusting to another therapist. And in Donald’s case, he had a tendency to get downright ornery with anyone other than Abby.

“Donald has more respect for people who don’t let him get away with any crap, despite the arguments that may ensue. You just let him know I expect him to be on his best behavior or he’ll have to answer to me when I return.” That alone should bring a smile to the elderly man’s face. “I know I left everyone in the lurch, but I had to do this.”

“I know you did.” Angela was more than her supervisor, she was a close friend. “How are you doing?”

“You know me.” Abby paced to the other side of the room. “Keeping busy. I’m in Texas following up on Walter’s mystery note.”

“Oh Abby,” Angela said. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I came here to find answers. I may or may not be looking in the right place, but at least I’m doing something about it instead of playing the wondering game.”

Abby sat on the bed steps, drawing her knees to her chest. She’d been a toddler when her mother had married Steve Winchester, and she had no recollection of the event. The day her brother was born five years later, though, that was another story. She’d never forget that wonderful day. Abby had doted on Wyatt from the beginning. Although, she had always felt like an outsider when she saw him and their parents together. Wyatt was their biological child, and even though Steve had raised her as his own, it still bothered Abby that she’d never know the feeling of belonging the way Wyatt did. There were too many what-ifs surrounding Walter’s note and she was afraid they’d consume her if she didn’t look for the truth.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Angela’s words competed with another voice through the phone. Hearing a muffled sound, Abby suspected that Angela had covered the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, I have to go. You’d better keep me posted.”

“I will.” Abby hung up, climbed onto the bed and lay back on the pillows. She missed her patients, the interaction, the progress they made and the determination that drove them further each day. But she wasn’t about to feel sorry for herself. She’d witnessed far too many of her patients battling horrific injuries and overcoming major obstacles so they could live fully again. Their situations were why Abby refused to allow the phrase self-pity to enter her vocabulary.

She glanced at her snoozing dog. “I think you have the right idea, Duffy.”

Abby closed her eyes, and her thoughts immediately drifted to Clay. Naturally, she had noticed how tall, muscular and downright sexy he was, but more importantly, he held the key to her future. Abby thought back to what Clay had told her at The Magpie. If he found her sister, the woman may not want Abby to know anything about her. Abby’s search would be over without a single answer. That scenario had never crossed her mind. Could she live with that? Abby didn’t think so.

She turned onto her side and ran her hand down Duffy’s back. Maybe Kay did have a point about exploring what Ramblewood had to offer. Abby wouldn’t mind running into the single P.I. tonight. Maybe he’d show her around the town her parents had once called home. Ramblewood was part of her past and she might as well make the best of her trip.

The shrill of her cell phone startled her. The number for CT Investigations splayed across the screen. Had Clay found her sister already?

* * *

AFTER SEARCHING THE courthouse and town hall for information about Abby’s sister—and turning up nothing—Clay headed home. Fortunately, he had managed to wrap up another case, so at least the trip wasn’t a total loss. Placing Abby’s ornate file folder on the counter, he groaned. Why couldn’t he shake her from his mind? He dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped open the folder. Before he could change his mind about calling, Abby answered.

“So soon?” Her voice burst through the earpiece.

“Excuse me?” Clay asked. What did she mean by soon? Did he break one of those female rules that said he had to wait a certain amount of time before calling? They’d had a lunch meeting, not a date. He didn’t think those rules applied here.

“I can’t believe you have something already,” Abby said. “Did you find my sister?”

“Um, no. Nothing yet.” Clay’s jaw clenched, already chastising himself for what he was about to ask. “I wondered if you’d be interested in grabbing a bite to eat. I wanted to discuss your family a little more to see if there’s something you hadn’t thought of before.”

“Sure, that sounds fun.” Clay detected Abby’s enthusiasm over the phone. Was it because he had called, or was she simply bored with Ramblewood’s limited tourist activities? Not that it mattered. Once again, he reminded himself she was a client. Her enthusiasm or lack thereof was of no concern to him. “Where did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Depends what you’re in the mood for. We may not have much to do around here, but our Cooter Creek Restaurant Row draws crowds from clear across the county. There’s Cajun, French, Mexican, German, sushi and steak. Then around Main Street we have Chinese, pizza and your standard burgers and fries fare.”

“I’m absolutely jonesing for some Chinese, if that’s okay with you. It’s my favorite.”

Amused by her expression, Clay didn’t think the phrase “jonesing” came from South Carolina. Must be a part of her northeastern upbringing. “Chinese it is. Six o’clock all right? I’ll pick you up at the Bed and Biscuit.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll see you then.” Clay hung up the phone and banged his head repeatedly against the kitchen cabinet. “Why did I do that? I had no business calling her. This is a job, she’s a client and I’m an idiot.”

Yet he hadn’t been able to get Abby out of his head since meeting her yesterday. The woman had gotten under his skin and he hadn’t allowed that to happen since Ana Rosa. His fiancée’s face had begun to fade from his dreams lately, and though he tried to hang on to every memory of her, some days they began to blur. The thought of losing her memory terrified him. If only he’d done things differently and told her the truth. There were no second chances, though. Both Ana Rosa and her son were dead. And it was his fault.

Clay grabbed a beer from the fridge and glanced around his old farmhouse. Shane was right, it hadn’t changed much since the day he bought the place. Well, maybe he had opened a box or two when he’d been searching for a particular item. It had been so long since he’d looked inside any of the boxes, he had trouble remembering what he owned.

Clay had entertained thoughts of donating everything to the local thrift shop. And why not? After surviving this many years without the boxes’ contents, he obviously didn’t need whatever was inside. But he knew one of those boxes contained their photos. Reminders of the days they’d spent together, promises he’d made to them of a future and a life free of fear. All of them broken—every single promise—irretrievably broken.

“Dammit!” Clay kicked at the screen door and stormed down the back porch stairs. Heading for the barn, he passed all his clients’ payments, including his newly acquired five-year-old Welsh pony, Olivia. Originally, he had planned to give the mare away, but when his gelding Dream Catcher had met Olivia, it was love at first sight.

At a little under thirteen hands, she was much smaller than his Morgan horse, but their silver-dappled coloring was almost identical. Clay figured the two were meant to be together. Once again, Abby came to mind—she was much shorter than he was.

“Get a grip, Clay.” He led both horses from the corral into the barn. “Abby’s not a pony and I’m sure as hell no gelding.”

Frustrated that he had let the slightest bit of Abby seep into his thoughts, he placed Dream Catcher in his stall. When he returned from feeding the goats, the horse stood in the middle of the barn, ears twitching and tail swishing as if he were about to bolt.

He’d forgotten to latch the door. Allowing Abby to cloud his vision had already complicated his life. His horse could be in danger if Clay couldn’t corral him back into the stall. The last thing he needed was to chase Dream Catcher down the two-lane road that was only a stone’s throw from the barn.

“Are you seriously going to do this to me today?” Clay held his arms wide attempting to make himself appear larger. He was afraid to close the barn doors behind him for fear the horse would turn and run out the other side of the building. If Dream Catcher ran straight for him, Clay at least had a better chance of catching the animal. “Come on, pal. You don’t want to leave your girlfriend here all alone, do you?”

Slowly, Clay inched forward. Dream Catcher lowered his head slightly and for a second, Clay wondered if the gelding was about to charge. Reaching for the lariat hanging on the barn wall, Clay hoped he had enough clearance to throw it before the horse turned and bolted.

Dream Catcher snorted and stomped his hoof, then nonchalantly walked into his stall.

“Are you kidding me?” Clay quickly latched the door. “What was that—a test? I’ve had enough of those today, thank you.”

Tests he was apparently failing. Why had he opened his big mouth and asked the pint-size blonde out to dinner?

Because he lacked enough good sense to keep his distance.

He lived a quiet, uncomplicated life, and that’s how he wanted to keep it. The last thing he needed was Abby Winchester and her problems...only the fact that no one else knew of a sister didn’t sit right with him. Locate cases rarely resulted in a neatly wrapped gift box full of answers. Instead, they had a tendency to take on a life of their own with the subject of the search usually secreted for a reason. Clay’s gut told him Abby’s life was about to unravel. And that bothered him much more than it should have.

* * *

ABBY HAD PASSED New China earlier in the day and knew the dress she had bought at Margarita’s Ragpatch would be overkill for the tiny, ultracasual restaurant. It was definitely a low-key type of place. She slipped into her favorite curve-hugging distressed jeans and topped them off with a cotton and lace empire-waist sleeveless shirt under a soft peach linen cropped jacket. As she rolled up her sleeves and slid some wooden bangles onto her wrists, she decided on a pair of platform chocolate-leather ankle booties.

Her mother’s words whenever they went shopping echoed through Abby’s head. Neutral pieces will carry you everywhere. You can always accessorize. Her mother, queen of the cruise lines, knew how to dress to impress. Her parents were perpetually off to some exciting locale. They were on second honeymoon number one thousand at this point. Wyatt and Abby never joined them, not even when they had been kids. Their grandparents had taken care of them while Maeve and Steve sailed off into the sunset.

Abby admired their relationship. They were one of those perfectly in sync couples who finished each other’s sentences, and she was willing to bet they were as much in love today as they were when they met. Maybe more. Abby dreamed of the day she’d find her soul mate. She’d been planning her wedding ever since she was a little girl. But a wedding would never happen unless she cleared her schedule a bit and actually took the time to meet someone.

Downstairs, she told Mazie she was going out for the evening. Mazie said she’d look in on Duffy and take him for a walk if Abby was gone for more than a few hours. Mazie’s devotion to her pet guests more than justified the higher cost of staying at the Bed & Biscuit, in Abby’s opinion. Many hotels didn’t take pets and fewer offered dog-walking services.

Abby decided to wait for Clay on the Victorian’s expansive wraparound porch. White antique rocking chairs invited guests to relax among the fall flowers in various sized pots and hanging baskets decorating the porch’s perimeter. Serenity and intoxicating florals welcomed you to the Hill Country region of Texas the second you stepped out the door.

“You look very pretty, dear.”

Abby jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice. “You scared me.” Abby hadn’t noticed Janie Anderson, one of the inn’s employees, standing in the corner of the porch with a watering can in her hand. “And thank you.”

“I’m sorry.” The older woman continued to water the plants while she spoke. “You can get lost in Mazie’s jungle of flowers out here. I hear you have a date with our Mr. Tanner this evening.”

Well that didn’t take long to spread around. “I wouldn’t call it a date. We’re meeting over dinner to discuss my mysterious sister.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Sounds exciting. I’m sorry I don’t remember your parents from back then. I even looked through some of my old photos last night. My husband, Alfred, is an avid hobby photographer and I swear we have stacks of photos from every parade and festival Ramblewood’s ever seen. Of course, I don’t know what I’m looking for, either, but you are more than welcome to look through whatever we have.”

“Really?” Maybe she’d find a photo of her parents, or one of her father and another child. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Any time you want to come over, you let me know. I can’t say my Alfred is the most organized man, but the photos are in some semblance of order.”

Abby couldn’t wait to tell Clay the exciting news. Maybe the newspaper archives would have something about her father, too, but she was certain Clay would look into that on his own. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to mention it.

A week ago, Ramblewood, Texas, hadn’t been a blip on her radar. She’d arrived in town so quickly she had a hard time distinguishing one day from the next. Now that she was here, thoughts she hadn’t considered complicated the situation.

Did her sister have a relationship with Walter? Did they see each other often? Maybe Abby wasn’t the only one he sent notes to. And maybe his yearly scavenger hunts weren’t just for her.

“Are you all right?” Janie motioned for Abby to sit in one of the rockers.

“I’m sorry.” She needed to escape her own head for a bit. She sat and Janie joined her. “I guess the reality of the situation is finally hitting me. To be honest, I thought it already had. I mean, the first big step was coming here, right? Then when I hired Clay, I thought that was the big step. In actuality, they’re all little steps to finding the truth. The idea of having a sister that I never knew of is very surreal.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re handling yourself beautifully,” Janie said.

“Thank you. When I first considered hiring an investigator I had my doubts anything would come of this. It was more wishful thinking, but when I was sitting in the Bark Park and then walking around town, I got this feeling—an indescribable draw that was telling me this is where I’m supposed to be.” Abby looked up to see Janie listening intently. “I must sound crazy, but in my heart, I know it’s only a matter of time before Clay finds the answers and then what? How do you make up for all that lost time?”

“You take it day by day, dear.” Janie rested her hand on Abby’s knee. “Don’t worry about what happens next. Concentrate on what you do know so you can find her.”

“I don’t mean to sound pitiful. I haven’t allowed myself to think about the end result, and it’s kind of hitting me all at once.”

“That’s normal,” Janie said. “I would say it’s part of the grieving process over your father, too. Allow yourself to feel, but don’t cross the line into dwelling on it.”

Abby knew Janie was right. Seeing patients with disabilities and traumatic injuries every day, she had learned to appreciate everything she had. One of her old professors used to say, “As long as you’re aboveground, there’s always a bright side.” Abby lived by those words. They were why she never allowed her patients to give up, even when they suffered a setback.

But one question had plagued Abby since she had received Walter’s note. Why would anyone keep her sister’s existence a secret?

* * *

CLAY PULLED HIS TRUCK into the Bed & Biscuit parking lot. He shut off the engine and sat with the keys in his hand. He swallowed drily. This was dinner to discuss Abby’s case, nothing more.

Then why did he need to keep reminding himself it wasn’t a date? Because he wanted it to be a date and that made him feel worse than his nerves did.

Clay was attracted to Abby more than he cared to admit. When her background check revealed she was a physical therapist, he’d been intrigued. He had figured her more the clothing-designer type. Or an art dealer, maybe. A physical therapist was completely unexpected.

He inhaled deeply in a vain attempt to steady his uneven pulse. Failing miserably, he climbed from his mud-caked truck, cursing himself for not washing it. He proceeded around to the front of the inn where Abby waited for him in one of the rocking chairs. The warmth of her smile was echoed in her eyes. She met him halfway down the stairs, and he once again wondered how she managed to remain upright in such high heels. She looked beautiful in an effortless way.

Clay hoped he had the sense to keep that opinion to himself. Abby was a client and he refused to cross that line.

You already have.

“Are you ready to go?” Clay’s voice broke. Abby’s eyes widened slightly, but fortunately she let it slide without comment. Clay hadn’t been remotely close to this nervous since the night he had proposed to Ana Rosa. A perpetual reminder that he couldn’t blur the lines between client and romance. Not that romance was on the table. He wouldn’t tarnish Ana Rosa’s memory by having a fling with Abby, or anyone else for that matter.

Abby faced the sidewalk. “Since it’s so beautiful out tonight, do you mind if we walk? It’s still beastly humid back home and I’m loving this Texas weather.”

“You want to walk to New China in those shoes?” Clay didn’t think she’d make it fifty feet, let alone all the way down Main Street.

“I assure you I’ll be fine. I’m quite capable of putting one foot in front of the other.”

“Don’t those things hurt your feet?” Clay opened the wrought-iron gate leading to the sidewalk and held it for Abby.

“Listen, I usually wear sneakers when I’m at work, and anything without a heel makes me feel like a twelve-year-old. Scratch that, most preteens are taller than I am. I wear heels so I can at least look like a grownup.”

“If you say so.” Clay found himself scrambling to keep up with her quick pace. “Are we race walking?”

Abby stopped and stared at him. “I’m sorry. I have to remind myself I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere while I’m here. My schedule is usually packed and I tend to run nonstop. I assume you completed my background search. Did I check out okay?”

Yes, you managed to check right into my every waking thought. “I was surprised to discover you’re a physical therapist.”

“What were you expecting...a personal shopper?” Abby teased. “Most people don’t peg me for a PT because of my size, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years working with my patients, the only limitations are within your heart. I may be small, but I can do anything I put my mind to.”

Clay admired Abby’s confidence. He wished some of it would rub off on him tonight because while she appeared composed, he was the exact opposite.

He’d worked undercover in dangerous sting operations and helped take down some of the country’s most dangerous criminals, all while managing to keep his nerves in check. Yet a simple walk with an attractive client left him jumpier than spit on a hot skillet. It didn’t help that the more Abby spoke of her work, the more impressed he became. By the time they were ready to order their dinner, he found himself captivated by the stories she told about her patients.

“I’ll have the chicken lo mein, no mushrooms, and an egg roll, please.” Abby handed her menu to the waiter.

Clay enjoyed a woman who ate real food and didn’t pick at a salad while he chowed down on General Tso’s shrimp and fried rice.

“I take it you’re using your vacation time to come to Ramblewood.” A part of Clay wished she’d be called back to work on some emergency so his heart rate could return to normal.

“It wasn’t exactly planned. I basically decided I needed to get away from the hospital for a few weeks.” Abby dipped a crunchy noodle into a small bowl of duck sauce and popped it into her mouth. “We’re not exactly seeing eye to eye right now.”

“About what?” Clay knew he should steer his questions toward her family, but curiosity drove him to ask why she needed a break from a job she clearly enjoyed.

“Animal-assisted therapy. My dog, Duffy, is a therapy pet, and we make the rounds of nursing homes and rehab centers. Just having a dog present transforms a room into something more familiar than a hospital bed and beeping machines. A brain tumor patient had been in ICU for a month and wouldn’t open her eyes or react to any stimuli until we brought Duffy in. We put a sheet on the bed and he climbed up and lay beside her. Instantly, this woman put her hand on Duffy and opened her eyes. It was a life-changing experience for me. I’ve been trying to persuade the hospital to induct a program of its own.”

“How’s that going?”

“They’ve rejected my proposal three times. They would need to dedicate a team to research the program first. They feel it would cost too much money. Money they’d rather spend on conventional therapy with years of scientific study behind it.” Abby broke a noodle in half and tossed it onto the table. “I told them I had already conducted a preliminary inquiry on the grants available and I’m willing to chair any events that would bring in donations to the program.”

“Can you manage to take all of that on yourself?” Based on the determined lift of her chin and the challenge of her gaze, Clay knew the answer before she responded.

“I know it won’t be easy, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. This is personal for me. When I was a kid, I stuttered horribly. Other kids made fun of me. Everyone was always telling me to think before I spoke, which only made things worse.” She shrugged. “I didn’t have a problem thinking. I had a problem getting the words out of my mouth. My speech therapist told me to talk to my dog, alone, with no one else around, and you know what? I didn’t stutter when it was just Ebony and me.” Abby laughed. “I’m not saying that talking to him cured me, but it taught me to have confidence in myself. And, I still have my moments and my bad days when I stumble over my words, but who doesn’t? I’ve had dogs my entire life and they’ve gotten me through some rough times.” Her face suddenly reddened. “Wow, I’m monopolizing the conversation.”

“No, you’re not.” The waiter set their meals on the table. Clay had intended to discuss Abby’s family, but his interest in the woman became more personal the more she spoke about her work. “You remember the woman that referred you to me, Kay Langtry? She runs the Dance of Hope Hippotherapy Center, where they use the horses’ movements to treat people with injuries and disabilities. I think you’d find it fascinating. I’m sure she’d love to give you a behind-the-scenes tour.”

Abby bumped her water glass, sloshing some of it onto the table in her excitement. “You’re kidding me!” She used her napkin to clean up the mess, and continued talking without missing a beat. “I never thought to look up animal-assisted therapy centers while I was here. I would love to see the place. Kay had told me she owned a ranch and to ask anyone in town to show me the way.”

“I’d be happy to take you.” Clay felt his stomach knot the moment he said the words. He’d crossed the line. Again. The desire to see her expression when she saw Dance of Hope and the therapy they provided almost made him want to clear his schedule tomorrow and drive her out there first thing. If he were smart, he’d give her directions and send her on her way, but logic had escaped him the moment he’d asked her to dinner.

“I’d love that. Thank you.”

Abby beamed—her face literally glowed with anticipation, and in that instant, Clay realized his attraction to her was more than the superficial desire he had originally thought. Despite her glitzy exterior, she was one of the more down-to-earth and genuine people he’d met in ages.

Clay watched Abby masterfully twirl her lo mein noodles with her chopsticks, a feat he never thought possible. The woman continued to surprise him every minute. The fact she had volunteered to be a part of a Doctors Without Borders physical therapy program in Ghana, Africa, last year warmed a place in his heart he hadn’t known still existed.

He needed to reel himself in. The woman was a client and he was not about to let her down. He forced himself to focus on her family history throughout the rest of the meal. Abby was able to answer questions about everyone except her biological father because she knew very little about the man. Despite their contact over the years, Walter hadn’t been very forthcoming. It wasn’t the end of the world for Clay. It just made his job more difficult.

He didn’t mind having Abby around for a little longer, though. While a simple open-and-shut case appealed to some private investigators, Clay loved a challenge, and Abby’s case was definitely that. But she was awakening a part of him he had resolved would never see the light of day. Abby was in town for two weeks, and that was it. There was no chance of anything more than a brief acquaintance. Once the case was closed, Abby would leave for Charleston and he’d probably never see her again. Why didn’t that thought sit well with him?

“The best part of the meal is the fortune cookies.” Abby eagerly cracked hers open. “The skills you have gathered will one day come in handy. Oh, well, that’s good to know.”

Clay laughed and split his cookie in half, removing his fortune. “There are many new opportunities that are being presented to you.” That one hit a little too close to home. He didn’t want to think about new opportunities. He’d trade everything he had for Ana Rosa and Paulo to come back to him. The immediate guilt washing him over their deaths reminded him that a relationship with Abby was out of the question. Clay didn’t deserve a second chance at happiness when Ana Rosa and Paulo didn’t have a second chance at life. He cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. We should head back. I have to be in court tomorrow morning.”

Abby checked her watch. Clay knew it was barely eight o’clock and his excuse was lame, but if things went further, he’d never forgive himself. He had a feeling it would be easy to lose himself with the pint-size blonde. He wasn’t ready for this, and he certainly wasn’t ready for Abby.


Chapter Three (#ulink_894363c3-2b6c-5457-87a6-418630a6e21a)

“Hit me again.” Abby tapped two fingers next to her coffee cup.

“Your eyes look like two cherries in the snow,” Bridgett said. “Didn’t you get any sleep?”

“The last time I stayed up so late was when I studied for my state board exams.”

Bridgett grinned. “Did someone keep you company last night?” She refilled Abby’s empty cup.

“He sure did.” Abby looked around to ensure no one else was listening. “He snuggled right beside me while I worked.”

“Worked?” The waitress set the coffee carafe on the counter. If the woman were a puppy her ears would have stood up.

“Yes,” Abby said, amused. “I’m a physical therapist, and I was researching animal-assisted therapy centers with my dog curled up next to me all night.” Unfortunately, there weren’t any facilities nearby, and outside of what she had read online about Dance of Hope, nothing compared to the program she would like to create in Charleston.

“Oh, and here I thought it was something exciting.” Bridgett frowned. “Not that what you do isn’t exciting. I’m sure it is. Before I stick my foot farther down my throat, can I get you something to eat?”

“No, thank you. At the rate I’m going, I won’t fit into my clothes soon.” Between Mazie’s lavish meals and the times she’d eaten out over the past few days, she knew she’d already gained a few pounds. “And don’t look so disappointed. You didn’t honestly think I’d jump into bed with him, did you? We just met.”

Bridgett raised a brow. “Him? Who him?”

“Clay him, that’s who. We went to dinner the other night.” Abby hoped her disappointment in not hearing from the man for the past forty hours didn’t show. She certainly wasn’t counting. Okay, she was. And Abby couldn’t remember counting the hours on anything, except maybe when she was waiting for word to come down from the hospital board about her latest proposal.

Bridgett propped her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “Clay Tanner...one of Hill Country’s finest. I don’t mean to pry, but I’m going to anyway. Why are you in Ramblewood? It must be something good if you hired a private investigator.”

“It’s no secret.” Abby sipped her coffee. “According to my late biological father, I have a sister no one else apparently knows about. Since he was stationed at Randolph Air Force Base and I was born here, I figured I would try Texas first.”

“I love mysteries,” Bridgett said. “Any idea of her age?”

“No. I want to say younger than me, since he and my mom married straight out of high school, but who knows? Maybe he had an affair when he was overseas. I needed some place to start and Ramblewood was my jumping-off point.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Sympathy clouded Bridgett’s eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your shoes.”

Abby hoped that, whoever her sister turned out to be, she had as full and content a life as Abby did. Unless you counted the recent upset at work, age thirty creeping up in a few years, the lack of a boyfriend and a biological clock that was ticking louder with each of her friends’ baby showers.

Okay. If she admitted the truth to herself, she wasn’t as content as she wanted to be. But who was? Didn’t people perpetually want more out of life? New cars, bigger houses, children. The grass was always greener.

“Mazie said Clay hadn’t dated anyone since he moved back to town. That seems a little odd. What’s his story?” Abby asked.

“That’s the million dollar question, hon.” Bridgett totaled up a customer’s bill and tore the ticket from her pad. “The man who left for the ATF was not the same man who came home. All I can figure is something bad must’ve happened when he was working the Mexican border. He has a small ranch on the outskirts of town, but no one ever goes there. Either he’s at Slater’s Mill or Bridle Dance visiting Shane and Lexi, Mazie’s sister. They have a house out there. Shane is Clay’s best friend and even he doesn’t know much. Or if he does, he hasn’t said anything.”

“Interesting,” Abby commented.

“He’s a tough one, Abby,” Bridgett warned. “If you test the waters with him, I suggest you put on a life vest to keep your head above water. Someone like that can drag you down if you’re not careful.”

Bridgett’s comment surprised Abby, although she should heed her advice considering how long the waitress had known the man. Abby’s job was to help people regain their lives. She wasn’t programmed to walk away. If Bridgett was right and something had happened to Clay, that would explain why he was no longer with the ATF. Far too young to retire, he just didn’t seem to fit the classic post-traumatic stress disorder profile. Not that it was her area of expertise, but she worked with many service people recovering from a range of injuries from limb loss to paralysis.

Clay didn’t have the haunted look in his eyes she’d seen in them. No, he was different, but with only a week and a half left in her vacation, there wasn’t enough time for her to help. At dinner he had asked all the questions, leaving her knowing nothing about him. Then again, that was his job as a private investigator, and her job was not Clay Tanner.

* * *

CLAY OWED ABBY an apology for behaving like a first-class jerk the other night. While they walked back to the Bed & Biscuit, Abby had maintained a chipper attitude, but her bubbliness and energy had faded with each step. Of course that had been Clay’s fault, since he had virtually shut her out once he’d read that fortune cookie. He’d immediately felt as if he betrayed Ana Rosa with his personal interest in Abby.

He had asked himself many times if Ana Rosa would want him to move on or if she damned him to hell for causing her death. As religious as she’d been, in his heart Clay honestly didn’t know if she’d forgive something so heinous. If she had forgiven him for her death, there’d be none when it came to Paulo’s—a brilliant six-year-old with his entire life ahead of him. The little boy had wanted to be an American fireman more than anything—a dream Clay had promised to help fulfill.

He had planned to tell Ana Rosa the truth about his identity once the sting operation ended. Everything she’d known about him, everything she’d fallen in love with, had been a lie. But the lies had been a vital part of his assignment. They’d been necessary to keep them safe—or so he had thought. Clay had sensed things were about to go terribly wrong with that operation, and if he had disobeyed orders and told Ana Rosa and Paulo the truth, they’d still be alive. Instead, he had watched them die. That guilt tore at him each and every day.

Clay wanted to avoid any non-business-related contact with Abby, but there he was, contemplating calling her to apologize. He pulled into his parents’ driveway, then climbed out of the truck, figuring a good dose of home would do him some good. Nothing ever changed at the Tanner house. He always knew what to expect when he walked through the door.

“Morning, Mom.” He let himself in the side entrance. “Something smells good in here.”

“Have a seat, honey.” Fern gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m making waffles and you’re just in time. I hoped you were stopping by. We haven’t seen you for the past few days.”

“Translation,” his father chimed in from the hall archway. “Your mother heard from the Ramblewood Caw & Cackle Society that you went out on a date the other night, and she’s dying for you to tell her all about it. Heard she’s a cute little thing.”

Clay rolled his eyes. His mother was a romantic. She kept scrapbooks from her courtship with his father all the way through Clay’s and his sister’s school years. Fern carefully documented and preserved every family event in one of her many volumes.

“Well?” his mom asked.

Clay’s muscles tensed. “It wasn’t a date. I met a client for dinner to discuss her case.”

“Charlotte Hargrove said you two were walking down Main Street practically hand in hand,” his mother said.

“Charlotte Hargrove needs a life of her own because I assure you Abby and I weren’t holding hands.” Clay roughly pulled out a chair and flopped onto it. “By the end of the night, she was barely speaking to me.”

“What did you do?” Fern placed one hand on her hip and waved a spatula with the other. “You really need to stop running women off and start thinking about settling down. I want grandbabies and your sister, Hannah, vows never to have any. You’re my only hope.” She looked at her husband. “Right, Gage?”

“Fern, give the man a break,” his dad said. “But I’m curious, what did you do to make her stop talking to you? Give a man some pointers, will you?”

His mother threw her dish towel at his father. They made marriage appear so effortless, and Clay couldn’t get through a meal with a woman without ruining things.

After breakfast, he drove halfway home before calling Abby. He owed her an apology. That was it, nothing more. Yet he ended up asking her to meet him at Slater’s Mill later that evening.

Why was he doing this to himself—to her? It wasn’t fair to either one of them. He needed to find her sister quickly so Abby could leave town. Keep telling yourself that, pal. Yep, that’s why he’d already spoken with Shane and planned to introduce Abby to some of the Langtrys tonight so she could hear about their hippotherapy facility and possibly want to stay in Ramblewood. Clay was baiting her, because whether he chose to admit it or not, he wanted Abby in his life.

* * *

THE PARKING LOT at Slater’s Mill was half full when Clay arrived. He parked his truck and checked his reflection in the mirror, gently removing a piece of tissue from his face. In his haste to shower and shave he had nicked his chin. Stupid disposables—a rechargeable razor was his whisker-weapon of choice, but he still hadn’t replaced the one he’d dropped on the bathroom floor last week.

A red-and-white Mini Cooper pulled in alongside him as he stepped from his truck. It must be Abby’s—it suited her personality perfectly. He laughed. His midnight-blue Dodge Ram dwarfed her car. Clay adjusted his summer Stetson, checked his belt buckle to make sure he hadn’t left anything open and ran his palms down the front of his jeans, kicking himself for being as nervous as a fly in a glue pot. He would introduce her to the Langtrys and they’d have one drink. A drink with a woman he found attractive and who filled his every thought.

Abby stepped out of her car. “You look great.” The words unexpectedly escaped his mouth.




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