Hot On His Trail

A light knock on the door made them both look up. Carolyn stuck her head inside and waved at Lily, then she turned to Dylan. “Sorry to interrupt, but there is a Calley Graham here for an interview.”

Lily’s brow furrowed. “Interview? What interview?”

“Oops,” Carolyn muttered, as Lily struggled to sit up in bed.

“Oh, hell,” Dylan muttered. “I completely forgot about her.” He turned to Carolyn. “Thanks. Tell Miss Graham I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Lily waited until Carolyn shut the door before she turned to her brother. “Okay, Dylan, spill it. What are you up to now?”

He set his jaw. “I’m hiring a temporary investigator for Finders Keepers.”

Lily arched a brow, willing herself not to lose her temper. “When were you planning to tell me?”

“I thought you had enough to worry about.”

“Please don’t shut me out, Dylan. If I have to lie here and do nothing for the next three months, I’ll go completely stir-crazy.”

“Well, you can’t go out on assignment, and we have to find Matt Radcliffe.”

“I think I just said that,” Lily observed ruefully. Matt Radcliffe was a beneficiary in the late Violet Mitchum’s will. Widow of wealthy horse rancher and oilman Charles Mitchum, Violet had lived in a Victorian monstrosity in Pinto, Texas, until her death. Finders Keepers had been retained to find the three outstanding beneficiaries among the eight people named in Violet’s will. They’d successfully located Sara Pierce and Jillian Salvini, but Matt Radcliffe had proven more elusive.

Dylan sat on the edge of her bed. “Actually, we do have a lead. Our little gift to his mother finally paid off.”

Lily sat further up in bed, her interest piqued. “Where is he?”

“Somewhere in New Mexico,” Dylan replied.

“That sounds a little vague.”

“Exactly. That’s why we need someone to go out in the field and track him down. I can’t do it because of—”

“Julie,” Lily finished for him. The wife of Dylan’s best friend, Sebastian Cooper, had disappeared after a car-jacking over a year ago. Her brother’s concern for the missing Julie Cooper had almost turned into an obsession, although lately he didn’t seem as tense about her disappearance as he had been for the last few months. Had he gotten a lead on her? Or just finally given up hope of ever finding her?

Dylan gave a short nod. “I also want to stay close to home in case you need me.”

Lily leaned back against the pillows, feeling useless. But maybe there was something she could do. “Let me interview Calley Graham.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ve already hired someone for the job.”

She blinked. “Then why is this Graham woman here for an interview?”

He raked one hand through his brown hair. “Because I forgot to tell Carolyn to cancel the interview.”

Lily wasn’t surprised, given how distracted her brother had been recently. Which was further proof that he needed Lily’s help. “It’s really not fair to send Calley Graham away now. The least you can do is interview her, or let me do it.”

“Why? I’ve already as much as promised the job to a man named Simms. I still need to conduct a face-to-face interview with him, but that’s just a formality. He’s a retired cop with a résumé a mile long.”

“We could send them both out into the field,” Lily suggested. “Double our chances of finding Matt Radcliffe.”

Dylan stood up. “That means we’ll have to pay twice as much, too.”

She smiled as another idea occurred to her. “Not if we make it a contest. The first one to find Matt Radcliffe and bring him back to Texas wins the job. We’d pay expenses, of course, but no salary until the winner is hired.”

Dylan stared at her for a long moment, then grinned. “I see pregnancy hasn’t affected your brain cells. You’re still as devious as ever.”

She laughed. “I believe the word you’re looking for is creative.”

“So what happens if this Graham woman and Simms both decline our not-so-generous offer?”

She arched a brow. “Would you?”

“Not a chance. I never back down from a challenge.”

“Neither would I,” Lily affirmed. “We want someone with guts and tenacity to work for Finders Keepers. Someone who won’t give up when he, or she, runs out of leads.” She settled back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh. “The more I think about this idea, the more I like it.”

“Me, too,” Dylan agreed. “Once we find Radcliffe, I can finally make arrangements for Violet’s memorial service.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” Lily replied. “Send Calley Graham in here. Let’s find out how much she really wants this job.”

* * *

DYLAN SENT Calley Graham to Lily’s room, then shut himself in his office. Now that the matter of finding Radcliffe was being handled, he could concentrate on gathering evidence against his best friend.

His gaze drifted to one of the framed photographs on his wall. Taken when they were all in college, it showed him and Sebastian Cooper laughing together, their arms draped around Julie, who stood between them. Despite their lengthy friendship, Julie had always stood between them. Dylan had fallen in love with her when he was a junior at Texas A&M, but it was Sebastian she’d chosen to marry.

He’d truly wanted Sebastian and Julie to be happy together. Had grieved with Sebastian when Julie had gone missing after an apparent car-jacking last year.

And had been stunned when he’d finally discovered the truth.

Julie had run away, in fear for her life and that of her unborn child. Dylan had finally tracked her down in the tiny town of Cactus Creek, Texas. She’d given birth to a son in September. A boy she’d named Thomas. But that wasn’t the biggest surprise. She’d told Dylan that Sebastian had ties to the mob. All she lacked was the evidence to prove it.

So Dylan had vowed to find the evidence, even though some part of him still didn’t want to believe that Sebastian could be capable of that kind of duplicity. But there was only one way to find out.

He flipped through the Rolodex on his desk, searching for the number of Zach Logan, who had been his chief in the Dallas Police Department. If anyone would be keeping tabs on the local organized crime ring, it would be Zach. Especially since he’d been instrumental in sending its leader, J. B. Crowe, to prison last spring.

Dylan picked up the telephone.

* * *

CALLEY WAS SURPRISED to find herself directed to Lily Bishop’s spacious bedroom rather than Dylan Garrett’s office. She had prepared herself to face a man for this job interview, not the thoughtful, intuitive young woman who studied her now.

Lily’s jet-black hair contrasted sharply against the snow-white pillow cases. Despite the fact that she was confined to bed, Lily looked nothing like an invalid. She flipped quickly through the pages of Calley’s résumé, her mouth pursed in concentration.

“Your résumé is a little thin,” Lily said at last.

“What I lack in experience, I make up for in creativity,” Calley replied. She’d planned to sugarcoat her answers to Dylan Garrett, but she instinctively knew such a strategy wouldn’t work with his sister.

Lily laid the résumé on her lap. “That’s good to hear, because at the moment we’re working on a tough case. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.”

Calley gratefully took a chair next to the bed, her knees feeling a little shaky. She wanted this job so badly. Needed it, if she was ever to venture out on her own.

“The man we’re searching for is Matthew Radcliffe. He’s a beneficiary in Violet Mitchum’s will. Along with a monetary gift, he’s to receive one of Violet’s rings and a sealed letter from her.” Lily handed Calley an old photo. “He was twelve when this picture was taken. That’s also the age he was the last time Violet saw him.”

Calley studied the photo of a tall, lanky boy riding bareback on a dappled horse. His cowboy hat shaded his face, but she could see the proud set of his thin shoulders and the confident way he held the reins.

“Matt’s mother was the Mitchums’ housekeeper,” Lily continued. “He was born and raised on the Mitchum ranch. At least until the fire.”

“Fire?” Calley asked, her gaze still on the photo. She wished she could see his face.

“The Mitchums lived in a Victorian house just outside of Pinto that Charles Mitchum built for his wife in the fifties. There was a fire twenty years ago that destroyed a large part of the structure. It was after this fire that Matt and his mother, Rita, disappeared.”

“What about his father?” Calley asked.

“Todd Radcliffe ran out on his family when Matt was eight years old.”

Calley looked up from the photo. “I assume you’ve already contacted Matt’s mother?”

Lily nodded. “Apparently, she and her son are not close. When we first spoke with Rita in November she had no idea where to find Matt. Although she did tell us that he calls her on Christmas.”

Calley glanced up. “That was two weeks ago.”

Lily smiled. “We gave Rita a small gift for her cooperation. A new cordless phone with—”

“Caller ID,” Calley concluded, feeling the first tingles of excitement.

“That’s right. My brother just told me she contacted Finders Keepers a few days ago.” Lily reached into a thin file folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is the telephone number Rita wrote down after her son called.”

Calley looked at the area code. “505. That’s New Mexico, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Dylan traced the phone number to a roadstop café outside of White Rock, New Mexico. It’s a small town just north of Santa Fe. He contacted the owner of the café. Apparently, no one there knows Matt Radcliffe.”

“Which means we can assume he was just passing through.”

Lily nodded. “That’s all we have to go on. We don’t even have a description, since Rita hasn’t seen her son in years.”

Calley looked at the old photo once again. “He’ll be tall and have dark hair.”

“Rita did tell us that her son has dark brown eyes,” Lily added, handing the file to Calley. “And that he loves horses.”

As Calley glanced at the manila file folder in her hand, then at Lily, her heart began beating double time. “Does this mean I have the job?”

“Well, you might want to hear the conditions first.”

Calley placed the photo of Matt Radcliffe inside the folder, hoping Lily couldn’t see the way her hand was shaking. She didn’t give a fig about any conditions. She’d walk all the way to New Mexico if necessary.

“You won’t be the only one looking for Radcliffe,” Lily continued. “There is another man interested in this position. He’ll be on the case, too. Whoever is the first one to bring Radcliffe back here wins the job.”

Calley stood up. “Then I’d better get started.”

Lily looked up at her. “So you’re still interested?”

“Definitely,” Calley said, her blood racing at the thrill of competition. It had been too long since she’d felt that thrill. Much too long.

“Oh, one more thing,” Lily added, as Calley headed for the door.

She turned. “Yes?”

“You left a blank space on your application.” Lily held it up. “Do you have anyone we can contact, such as a family member, in case of an emergency?”

“No,” Calley said, wishing the lie wasn’t necessary. “I don’t have anyone.”

CHAPTER TWO

MATT RADCLIFFE stood at the corral as the sun set on the horizon, the last golden rays caressing the sparse grass and sagebrush growing along the fence. He propped one boot up on a metal rail and watched the herd of one hundred longhorn steers paw up a cloud of fine dust inside the large enclosure.

He tried to ignore the spark of excitement in his belly. But it smoldered there, refusing to be doused by good common sense. At sunup, he would embark on a fool’s errand, dreamed up by Rufus Tupper, New Mexico’s richest resident fool. A gentleman rancher, Rufus had never raised so much as a blister. He left that to the real cowboys, like Matt. Men who loved the land but couldn’t afford to buy a ranch of their own.

That was all about to change.

“Hey, cowboy.”

Matt turned to see Marla Mackovic walking up to the corral. She was a former Las Vegas showgirl who had hoped to cash in on Tupper’s wealth when he’d asked her to come live at the ranch. Instead, she spent most of her time dusting his horse trophies and preparing his hangover tonics.

“I missed you at supper,” she said, ambling over to him, her hands behind her back. Her overpermed hair hung like a black cloud down her back. He’d always liked Marla, even if she did wear too much makeup and perfume. But he didn’t like the calculating gleam he saw in her eyes this evening.

“I had a few last-minute preparations to make.”

“I brought you a piece of cherry pie.” She took a step forward and placed the napkin-wrapped pastry into his hand. Warm, red filling oozed out and ran over his thumb.

“Thank you,” he said, sucking the sweet filling off his knuckle. Not wanting to disappoint her, he ate the pie in three bites, though it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He had too much at stake today to care about food.

“Rufus wants to see you before you go,” she told him, her long yellow broom skirt swaying softly in the warm breeze.

“Then he’d better get his butt out here,” Matt said, licking the last crumbs off his fingertips.

“He wants you to come inside. Rufus is in one of his moods. I made him a bloody Mary a little while ago and he threw it against the wall. Said the tomato juice had too much pulp in it.”

Matt stared at her for a long moment. “Why do you stay here, Marla? You can do better than this.”

She arched one waxed eyebrow. “Why do you?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m leaving tomorrow. And I’m not coming back.”

“Take me with you,” she cried, reaching out to grasp his forearm. “I can cook for you and the cowhands. Wash your clothes. Sing and dance. Anything you want.”

Matt smiled. “You wouldn’t like it out on the trail, Marla. There aren’t any televisions or stereos or refrigerators. No indoor plumbing.” He reached for the hand still clutching his arm, and gently patted her thin fingers. “And no beauty salons to keep up this pretty manicure, either.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, curling it into a fist to hide the long, polished red nails. “I don’t need manicures, Matt. Or any of those other things. I just need…you.”

He swallowed a sigh. Marla didn’t need him and she sure didn’t love him. She just wanted someone to take care of her. She’d been looking for that someone ever since she’d run away from home at seventeen. Young and pretty and temperamental, she’d wasted the last two years of her life to be at Tupper’s beck and call. Obviously, she’d finally realized that she’d never find her way into the eccentric rancher’s heart.

“I’m too old for you, Marla,” he said gently.

“You’re not as old as Rufus. He’s almost fifty.” She tossed her long black curls over her shoulder. “And you’re only thirty-two.”

“And you’re barely twenty. You should be out having fun. Not traipsing around on a dusty trail with a bunch of cowboys.”

“Anything is better than here,” she muttered, then sidled closer to him, placing her small hands on his chest. “Besides, I like you, Matt. I’ve always liked you.” Her soulful brown eyes gazed up at him. “You’re so big and strong.”

Her hands slid up around his shoulders and smoothed over the biceps outlined by his chambray shirt. He inhaled the stale aroma of her heavy perfume and saw the mascara smudges beneath her eyes.

“And so brave,” Marla whispered seductively. “None of the other cowboys stand up to Rufus like you do.”

Her soft, voluptuous curves pressed against him, and for one brief moment Matt considered her request. It had been much too long since he’d held a woman in his arms. Maybe she could assuage the loneliness that seemed to seep into his bones during the long nights on the range.

His silence encouraged her to snake her arms around his neck and press her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Please take me with you,” she entreated in the singsong voice of a little girl. “Please, Matt.”

He gently disengaged himself from her, then took a step back. “Sorry, Marla. I always travel solo.”

She shrugged, a petulant pout on her lips. “Fine. Then I’ll ask Boyd to take me with him.”

Matt bit back a smile at the thought of Tupper’s hapless nephew. “Where is Boyd going?”

“With you on the cattle drive,” she retorted. “I heard Tupper tell Boyd it would make a man out of him.”

“Hell,” Matt muttered under his breath. This drive was going to be complicated enough without dragging along a spoiled city boy. “Don’t waste your time sweet-talking Boyd, Marla. I’m the boss out on the trail and I’m not allowing any distractions on this trip. It’s too important.”

“Fine.” Anger flared in her brown eyes. “I hope all the cattle stampede and fall off a cliff! I hope your precious horse kicks you in the head! I hope you get lost in the desert and your cojones dry up and fall off.”

“Gracious as always, I see,” he said, smiling as he reached into his pocket for the keys to his pickup truck. He tossed them to her. “You can still leave, Marla. Anytime you want. My truck has seen a lot of miles, but it’s dependable. It will take you anywhere you want to go.”

“I just want you to go to hell,” she cried, throwing the keys back at his feet. Then she spun around and ran toward the barn.

Matt stared at the keys for a moment, then turned and walked away. Marla might change her mind when her temper cooled off. Or she might decide to mow Rufus down. Either way, he wanted to help her out. She was a sweet kid when she wasn’t contemplating destruction of certain portions of his anatomy.

With Marla’s curse still ringing in his ears, Matt walked to the ranch house. Heat lightning flashed across the sky.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Matt looked up to see Rufus Tupper standing on the front porch. He wore a paisley silk robe and a pair of ostrich skin cowboy boots.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Hell, yes,” Rufus grumbled. “You can’t leave without a proper send-off. And I’m sure as hell not gettin’ out of bed before sunrise. Meet me in my study.” He turned around without another word and ambled back into the house.

By the time Matt reached Rufus’s study, the rancher had poured two whiskeys.

“A toast,” Rufus said, handing one of the tumblers to Matt. Then he raised his own glass in the air. “To the best trail boss west of the Mississippi.”

Matt took a sip of the whiskey. It burned its way into his stomach and made him feel slightly queasy. But then, so did Rufus Tupper.

Matt set down his glass. “What do you want?”

“Hell, Radcliffe,” Rufus said, pouring himself another whiskey. “You always this suspicious?”

“It comes with the job. I’ve got to be on the lookout for rattlesnakes, coyotes and other predators.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rufus settled into his chair. “I just want to make sure that everything is all set. I’ve got a lot of money riding on this bet with Lester Hobbs. In fact, we’ve decided to up the ante.”

Matt felt himself tense. Rufus and Lester were rich men with too much time and money on their hands. One whiskey-soaked night they’d reminisced about the good old days when a man could prove his mettle by driving cattle to market. Nowadays, most cattle were transported via semitrailer truck. Cattle drives were either short jaunts from one pasture to the next, or part of a tourist package for bored city slickers who wanted to play cowboy for a week.

Rufus and Lester decided to take a trip down memory lane by recreating an old-fashioned cattle drive on the Goodnight-Loving Trail, which had run west from Central Texas to Fort Sumner, New Mexico, well over a hundred years ago. Tupper had just laughed when Matt pointed out that the drive they had routed was headed in the wrong direction, running east instead of west.

“Up the ante?” Matt echoed. “You mean you’ve decided to make my job even harder?”

Rufus chuckled. “Hey, if you want to win that half a million dollars, you’ve gotta earn it. Or have you changed your mind?”

Matt folded his arms across his chest. “Are you going to tell me the new terms of the bet or are you just going to keep wasting my time?”

Rufus swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Basically the same as before. Lester and I each send one hundred longhorn steers on a cattle drive from here to my ranch near Jacksboro, Texas. First one to pass over the property line at the Lazy R wins the race.”

“And?” Matt prompted.

“And we’ve set the death loss at five percent. Which means if more than five steers die on the trail, the bet is forfeited. It would be too easy to win by cutting down the herd.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I don’t shoot cattle just to make my job easier.”

Rufus slowly sipped his whiskey. “Actually, I’ve heard so many good things about you I’m starting to wonder if you hired a publicity agent. You’ve got a reputation as the best long-distance trail boss in the country. Even better than Rich Weaver, who Lester hired to lead his drive. Now let’s see if you live up to it.”

Matt knew people spoke highly of him, marveling at his dedication to his work. They never seemed to realize that he didn’t have anything else.

But that was all about to change.

“I want a check for five hundred thousand dollars waiting for me at the bank in Jacksboro.”

Rufus pulled open his top desk drawer. “That reminds me. I had a contract drawn up so we do everything legal. That damn IRS is always breathing down my neck.”

Matt picked up the contract, leafing through the pages. Despite the legalese, he could see it clearly spelled out that Rufus would pay him the amount they’d agreed upon if Matt and his crew were the first ones across the finish line.

“Do you have a pen?”

Rufus fumbled in his drawer, then handed him one. “So when do you expect to hit Jacksboro?”

“I’m hoping to travel ten to fifteen miles a day, depending on the weather.” Matt scribbled his signature across the bottom of the contract, right below Tupper’s messy scrawl. “We’ll drive the cattle hard for five days at a time, then graze for two. With a little luck, we should arrive at the Lazy R about a month from now. Probably mid-February.”

Rufus scowled. “You’d get there a lot faster if you didn’t stop to graze.”

“Three hundred miles is a long way to go. Your steers would be nothing but skin and bones by the time we got to Jacksboro. If they made it that far.”

“I don’t give a damn about that.” Rufus scowled. “I just don’t want to lose.”

Matt slid the contract back across the desk. “I don’t intend to lose.”

“Good.” Rufus settled back in his chair. “Although I should warn you that Lester cheats at cards. No reason to believe he won’t find a way to cheat on the trail, too.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

The rancher smirked. “’Course, I wouldn’t mind if you caused Lester’s cowboys a little trouble along the way. I even put a few ideas in Boyd’s head that should add some fun to the trip. Did I mention he’s going along?”

“So I heard.” Matt stood up, planting both palms on the polished surface of Tupper’s desk. “But let’s get one thing straight. I don’t cheat. And any man on my crew who decides to implement one of your plans will find himself walking barefoot back to Fort Sumner.”

Rufus chuckled. “That’s the difference between us, Radcliffe. You’re honest and poor. I’m dishonest and rich. It’s time you wise up, son, before you lose both the bet and the nice fat check that’s already got your name on it.”

Matt had never been so tempted to walk away. Leave behind Rufus and his frivolous bet. Finding work had never been a problem before. Finding someone willing to pay him half a million dollars was another story. Especially since he was only three hundred miles away from making his dream come true.

A ranch of his very own.