A Texan for Hire

“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

“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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