A Cowboy's Touch (13 page)

“I know. But supposedly they aren’t turning enough of a profit to justify the magazine’s existence.”

Abigail popped upright. “I have to come home.”

“No! You can’t. Let Mom handle this. She’s run the thing for all these years, she can figure it out.”

“I can help. I can write a major exposé or something and—”

Wade’s story flashed into her mind. If she found answers, if she could figure out what had really happened to Wade’s wife, it would be a major story. With Wade’s image splashed across the cover, thousands of readers would buy it. And once they sampled the new and improved magazine, she was sure circulation would increase dramatically. They only needed a story big enough to make people try it. And she had just the story to do it.

“Mom didn’t want you to know about this. You can’t come home.”

“What if I can solve the problem from here?”

“What are you talking about?”

BlueFly had given them three months. “When did BlueFly notify Mom of their decision?”

“Yesterday. Where are you going with this?”

The July issue would release soon. If that was the first issue of the countdown, they had until the end of August, which would be the September issue. Abigail would have to dig around and find answers, turn in the column by mid-August at the very latest. She’d have to notify her mother earlier, so the cover and column space were properly planned.

“Hello?”

Abigail cracked open the door and listened. She could hear water running in the kitchen. Maddy was at Olivia’s house, and Wade was out feeding the cows or something.

Abigail clicked shut the door again. “I have a big story I’m working on,” she said quietly.

“In Moose Creek?”

“Believe it or not.” How much should she say? She supposed there was no point in holding back now. “It has to do with Maddy’s father. You’re not going to believe this . . . He’s J. W. Ryan.”

“What? J. W. the ex-rodeo—
that’s
why you asked me about him last week?”

“He goes by Wade Ryan now. I can do research in my spare time, find out if he’s responsible for his wife’s death. I don’t have answers yet, but I’ll get them. Especially now.”

“Just finding him is news, Abs. Are you sure it’s him?”

“Positive.”

“Holy cow. You said Wade was cute, but J. W. is a total hunk.”

No kidding. An image of him flashed into her mind. The one of him from the Sexiest Man website, smiling, all cocky. It was a look she hadn’t seen since she’d been here. Not even close.

“I don’t know,” Reagan was saying. “No doubt it’s the story of a lifetime, probably enough to spur a ton of sales—”

“Probably?”

“Okay, definitely. There’s not a woman who follows celebs who wouldn’t buy that issue. But as your sister and as your doctor, I’m concerned about your hypertension.”

“I’ll monitor my symptoms.”

“Mom’s going to kill me. Are you taking your meds, watching your diet, exercising, limiting your sodium?”

“Yes, Dr. Jones.”

“It’s nothing to joke about. I want weekly reports of your symptoms, and I want you checking your blood pressure every week.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it, Abigail.”

“All right, I will. I promise.”

“It’s not like there’s anything I can say to change your mind anyway.”

“You know me too well.” She had a mission, and she was going to see it through. For her mom and all the people who worked at
Viewpoint
. Their livelihoods depended on her.

“If anyone can uncover the story, it’s you. And I agree it would be the sure thing to save the magazine. Just be careful not to overdo, sis, okay?”

“I’ll be careful.” Abigail heard the water shut off on the other end of the line. “You have fun with Dr. Right. I want a full report. Now, go soak away your worries.”

“All right. Stay in touch.”

“Will do.” Abigail turned off the phone, her mind already on Wade’s story. It would catapult
Viewpoint
to new heights. But she needed answers, and she wasn’t finding them online. She was going to have to get them from people. Without their becoming suspicious.

She put the phone in her purse and left her room. A clank sounded in the kitchen, and she followed the sound. Greta was pulling something from a low cupboard.

“Need help with dinner?”

The housekeeper rose unsteadily, holding a large black pot. “No, thank you. Where’s Maddy?”

“At Olivia’s.”

Greta frowned, her forehead puckering. “Isn’t that Shay’s girl? The one who stole her bike?”

“They made up. Olivia invited her over, and I encouraged her to go. I think they could both use a friend.” Abigail saw what might have been begrudging approval. “Sure you don’t want some help?”

Greta set a bag of potatoes on the counter. “Help yourself then.”

Abigail opened the bag and took a paring knife from Greta. The woman set to work on a potato and had it peeled before Abigail was half done with her first.

“Have you worked for Wade long?”

“Pee Wee was his first hire, and I came with the deal.”

Short and sweet. Greta wasn’t going to be a fount of information. “Maddy must’ve been pretty young at the time.”

Greta grunted.

Abigail tried again. “She told me her mom passed away. That must’ve been very hard on them both.”

Greta’s lips pressed together in a scowl before she spoke. “You leave that girl alone about her mama. She’s been through enough without being quizzed about her loss.”

Abigail was too taken aback to speak for a moment. “I wasn’t quizzing her. We were just talking. I lost my dad, and I thought it might be good for her to—”

“Maybe you should do less thinking and more peeling.”

Abigail scraped the knife across the surface. Greta had plenty of bark, that was for sure. But Abigail wasn’t dissuaded so easily. “I think it’s great that Wade brought his daughter here to start a new life. Sometimes a fresh start is just what the doctor ordered.”

Greta’s knife made quick work of the peel.

“And the town seems to have accepted them. Aunt Lucy has nothing but kind things to say about Wade.”

They worked in silence for a while. Greta was a dead end if Abigail ever saw one. When they finished peeling and washing the potatoes, she excused herself and wandered into the living room just in time to see Wade opening the door to his pickup.

Maybe this was a way to spend some time with him, ask a question or two. She hustled out the front door and down the porch steps. He was shutting the door when she reached the truck, and he rolled down the window when he saw her.

“Going into town?” she asked.

“Yep.” He turned the truck over, and the engine groaned and sputtered before starting.

“Could I hitch a ride? I’m needing something from the market.”

Wade tugged his hat, shifted in the seat. “I could get it.”

Feeling mischievous, she hiked a brow and gave him a pointed look. “You sure?”

His eyes darted from hers to the steering wheel as a satisfying flush rose on his neck and flooded his cheeks. “Get in.”

Abigail smiled. “Be right back.” Feeling exultant at her success, Abigail trotted into the house for her purse, then back down the porch steps and to the truck. She jumped in the passenger side and buckled her belt.

“I have several errands, so I might be awhile.”

She recognized his one last effort to ditch her.

“Great. I can visit with Aunt Lucy at her store while I wait.”

He put the truck in reverse and backed out. “Suit yourself.”

It was only a ten-minute ride to town and a ten-minute ride back. She had to be careful not to raise suspicions. Or to be distracted by the manly smell of leather or the nicely shaped fingers curling around the steering wheel.

Get a grip, Abigail
.

She thought of the embarrassed flush she’d put on his face, which was only now fading away, and smothered a grin. The man had an eleven-year-old daughter, for heaven’s sake. What was he going to do when he had to run to the store on her behalf?

“Where’s Maddy?” Wade asked.

“She rode her bike to Olivia’s. She said you wouldn’t mind.”

“They made up?”

“Maddy feels bad for Olivia, despite what she did. Your daughter is very compassionate. You should be proud of her.”

“I am.”

A few minutes later they pulled onto the road and turned toward town. She searched her mind for a question that wouldn’t put him off. When they passed a neighboring ranch, she recognized the name.

“The Circle D. That’s your friend Dylan’s place, right?”

“Yep.”

“Maddy said he moved out here after you and she did. You must be close.”

He spared her a look. “Go way back.”

“To childhood?”

“Something like that.”

“What about your family? Did you leave them behind in Texas?”

“Dad passed on before I left, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“What about your mom?”

He darted her a look that said she talked too much.

Abigail shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

He rolled his hands forward on the steering wheel, then relaxed his wrists. “She died a few years after my dad.”

His words were matter-of-fact, but Abigail caught the vulnerability in his tone. She looked at his profile. A strong jawline, masculine cheekbones, and eyes shaded by the low brim of his hat.

“Must’ve been hard on her when your dad passed.”

“It was.”

“I’m sorry. I guess you and Maddy have something in common, losing your moms.”

“Reckon so.”

“Were you and your dad close?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Knowing you helps me know Maddy.”

He sighed hard. “Dad was a cowboy on a big cattle ranch. I worked beside him every chance I got. Yeah, we were close.” He eased off the gas as a car passed them. “You?”

“There’s just my mom and sister and me. Reagan’s a doctor, she’s the brains of the family. My dad was a teacher.”

“And you?”

She’d known the question would come eventually. “I’m a writer. I write stories. My dad always thought I’d be a teacher like him. He taught fifth grade at my school, but he died of heart disease when I was a teenager.”

“You were close?”

“Very. Aunt Lucy says I’m just like him.”

“Hardheaded and too talkative?” His smile was a quick twitch of his lips.

Abigail stopped short of sticking out her tongue. “I think she meant tall and green-eyed. He had Scripture verses and other wise adages for every occasion. We called them Dadisms. And he took me to the theater and exhibitions. Reagan and Mom weren’t into that stuff.”

“Sounds like a good man. Can’t imagine growing up in the city, though.”

Abigail looked at the majestic line of mountains both to the east and west, at the valley in between with huge rolling hills, and at the blue sky yawning overhead. “It’s beautiful here. I can’t help but feel a little lost in the vastness.”

“I’d feel lost surrounded by hordes of people and cars and houses crammed atop one another.”

“Touché.”

“Nothing like Big Sky Country. Clean air, open spaces, the wind in your face.”

“We have wind in Chicago,” she teased.

“Polluted, smelly wind.”

“But we do have the theater. And Oprah.”

“We have the Chuckwagon. And God.”

She smiled. “God is everywhere, or hadn’t you heard?”

“He’s just harder to find in the city.”

Abigail thought of her father when she thought of God. Of his faithfulness. He’d taken them to church, and Abigail had even asked Jesus into her heart as a child. But she’d been so busy the last, well, ten years.

“Maybe so,” she admitted. “It’s easy to let God fall by the wayside when there are so many distractions.”
Like work
.

“Out here it’s easier to avoid the hectic schedules and the trappings of religion. It’s just you and God’s creation.”

“Never thought of it like that.” Her mom had called her restless, but Abigail hadn’t seen it at the time. Her busy life in the city had disguised it. But the slow pace of life here had made the truth apparent. She was restless.

If she were honest, she had to admit it had been a long time since she’d felt anything resembling peace. Not since . . . Her mind traveled in reverse searching for a moment of tranquility.

Not since childhood. She remembered swinging with Julia at recess and feeling completely all right with the world. Like she was safe and all was well. Before she knew people hurt each other. Before she knew she could keep awful secrets.

Abigail shook the unpleasant thought. Maybe her mom was right. Maybe she could find that kind of peace in Montana. Maybe if she got her spiritual life back on track, her soul would settle. God had been an important part of her dad’s life, used to be an important part of hers.