A Texan for Hire

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

“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.”