A Cowboy's Touch (21 page)

She felt Wade’s perusal but wasn’t about to look his way and fall into those eyes again. “Everyone has baggage, I guess. I do, you do, Maddy does . . . You just put it behind you and move on, right?”

Wade fought the wave of sympathy. He imagined Abigail at ten, knowing her best friend was being abused, and couldn’t stop the shudder. She must’ve been confused and afraid. To say nothing of the guilt she obviously carried. It radiated from every pore. He was on a first-name basis with guilt himself.

But Abigail was done talking about it. He could see that much and respect it.

“I mean, that’s what you did,” Abigail said. “Moved to Montana and started a new life—put the past behind you.”

Wade reloaded his brush, then swept it along the trim. If only it were as easy as changing locations. “Hard to put the past behind you when your daughter’s a living reminder of it.”

“She’s like her mother?”

Wade shrugged. “Some things. Her smile. The way her eyes light up when she’s excited, the way she tucks her hair behind her ears—that’s all Lizzie.”

“Must make it hard.”

“Wouldn’t change it for the world. Maddy’s all I have.”

Her eyes were crystal green in the light that flooded through the window. He saw compassion and understanding and so much more hidden in their depths.

Wade felt connected to her. Maybe it was the way she’d bared her soul, the fact that he’d just shared something he’d never told anyone, not even Dylan. Maybe that’s why his next words tumbled out.

“I was the one that found her—Lizzie.” Wade started to wet his brush, then realized he’d made a complete line around the room. The trim was finished. He set the brush on the can’s rim.

“You found her?” Abigail’s voice was gentle, coaxing.

“We’d argued earlier, before I left the house. There was a party. I wanted to go, she didn’t. I was young and selfish. I left for the party, left Maddy with her.”

The familiar pang of regret hollowed his stomach. If only he hadn’t gone. If only they hadn’t argued. If only, if only . . .

“What happened?”

Her question pulled him from deep inside himself. Why was he spilling his guts to someone he’d known barely over a month? What did he know about her—really know—that he’d trust his deepest secrets to her?

He rose and grabbed a paint tray. “Like you said. Past is the past and ought to stay there.”

Abigail finished the last part of the window and stepped back. “I’m sorry for what you went through. Maddy too. Losing a parent is hard.”

Wade set their brushes aside and poured the paint into the pan while Abigail unwrapped the rollers. “I worry about her. She’s at that age where she needs a mom.”

Abigail handed him a roller. “You’re doing a great job. She loves being with you.”

The sound of Maddy’s feet on the stairs halted their conversation.

When she entered the room, she grabbed a roller and unwrapped it. “Olivia said lime-green and brown are really popular colors. I can’t wait ’til it’s finished.”

“Me neither,” Abigail said.

Wade’s mind was stuck on his conversation with Abigail. His daughter did need him. But what if he failed Maddy the same way he’d failed Lizzie? It was why he held himself back—that fear that maybe she was better off without him.

And Abigail didn’t make it easy. Between picnics and projects— case in point, he thought, looking around the room—both of them were becoming a regular part of his daily routine whether he liked it or not. And he wasn’t sure which of them scared him more.

21

O
ne week later, Maddy’s room was finished. The walls were painted creamy beige, the equine border was applied, the wood floor gleamed like honey, and her new lime green pillows and shaggy rug completed the look.

After replanting their garden, they watched new seedlings spring from the ground and inch higher each day. Likewise, Abigail’s relationship with Wade grew. Roots of friendship sprouted easy conversation and laughter. Dinnertime, and the moments afterward, had become her favorite time of day. Wade’s quiet strength soothed her, his humor tickled her funny bone, and his tender, awkward way with Maddy only endeared him to Abigail.

Her column had become an afterthought, though the reality that she must at least notify her mother about the story was a constant nagging itch. While the writing of the article could wait, the cover had to be laid out well in advance of publication, and that deadline was quickly approaching.

As the day drew closer, Abigail found herself hoping something would change. That BlueFly Publications would rescind their ultimatum, that another story would materialize for one of the other reporters, something amazing enough to rescue
Viewpoint
. Because the closer the cover deadline grew, the more attached she became to Wade and Maddy, and the more she recognized her own truth.

She didn’t want to write the story.

She still didn’t know the details surrounding Lizzie’s death, but she knew one thing. Wade wouldn’t have hurt his wife—not on purpose.

The story was still a story, however, even without that bit of information. Because every fan in the continental United States, every publication, every tabloid, was interested in the whereabouts of J. W. Ryan. Interested enough to buy any magazine with his picture splashed across the cover. It would be their best-selling issue since her mom exposed a senator’s affair back in the eighties, back in
Viewpoint
’s heyday.

But knowing this didn’t make it easier.

Abigail changed into her pajamas, washed her face, brushed her teeth, booted up her laptop, and responded to e-mails. She took her blood pressure medication, cleared the junk off her nightstand, then set the stuff back out again.

Today was the day—the day of no turning back—and she’d waited until the last minute. Because, though she might see the story as the magazine’s one hope for salvation, she knew Wade would only see it as betrayal.

Abigail stared past the sheers into the dark night. Her own reflection stared back. She looked so innocent in her pj’s, her hair still sporting a youthful ponytail. She tugged the band, setting her hair free.
Innocent, my fanny
. She was about to betray her new friends. What would they do when they discovered what she’d done? How would they feel then?

They’d hate her, that’s how they’d feel. Abigail ran a hand over her face.

She was thinking like a woman, letting her feelings muddy the facts.
Think like a journalist. You’re the Truthseeker. Remember who you are
.

And she wasn’t just any journalist. She was the one who was about to save her mom’s magazine. Her job and many others. That was the key—to focus on what really mattered.

Her mom needed all relevant cover material for the September issue by tomorrow morning. Abigail eyed her cell phone, nested in the pocket of her purse. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

She retrieved the phone and dialed her mom’s cell. She was doing the right thing. The only thing she could do in this situation. The story had fallen into her lap. It was a gift from above, and who was she to thwart—

“Abigail. I was just thinking about you, sweetie.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“E-mails are nice, you know, but I wouldn’t mind hearing your voice more often.”

“I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy for my girl. How’s Aunt Lucy?”

“I’m not sure. There’ve been a couple things that worried me, little things really. I’m going to try and get her to have a checkup.”

“Well, good luck with that if she’s anything like your father. I hope you’re enjoying your time with her.”

“She’s a delight, just as I remembered. Her church ladies love her. They’re like a little flock of sheep all gathered around her every Sunday. You should see it; it’s so cute.” She was stalling and she knew it, but couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I’m glad you’re going to church.”

“It’s been good. Long overdue.”

“And are you finding time to rest?”

“I am.” Abigail nearly added that she felt fine, but she’d had headaches the last two days, and she was sure her blood pressure was up—though she’d avoided checking it.

Before she told her mom about Wade, she had one last hope. She said a quick prayer and crossed her fingers to cover all her bases. “How’s the September issue shaping up? Going to start laying out the cover tomorrow?”

“Oh, the usual. A look at the economy from the small business perspective, an interview with the president’s photographer . . . Hendrick is doing an interesting piece on childhood celebrities . . .”

She heard the false enthusiasm in her mom’s voice. So much for her last hope. Abigail had to tell her mom about Wade, but first she had to come clean. “Mom, I know about the ultimatum from BlueFly.”

The sigh was loud. “I swore Reagan to secrecy.”

“Yeah, I swore her to secrecy on my health, and you see where that got me.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Mom probably wondered why she hadn’t already rushed back to Chicago. She’d understand momentarily.

“Have you been feeling okay?” her mother asked. “I really didn’t want you stressing about
Viewpoint
.”

Here goes
. “I’m fine, Mom. I called to tell you I’m in a position to help the magazine. To rescue it, actually.” Abigail wadded the material of her pajama top in her fist, clenching until her nails bit into her palm.

“Go on . . .”

Abigail closed her eyes and gathered her courage.
You’re a journalist. You’re the Truthseeker. You’re going to save
Viewpoint.

She lowered her voice. “I found J. W. Ryan.” There. She’d said it. She exhaled, waiting for the relief she’d expected and finding none.

“J. W. Ryan, the rodeo celebrity?”

“The very one.”

“No one knows where he is—what do you mean you found him?”

“I mean I’m living in his house.” She was careful to keep her voice down. “The girl I’m watching is his daughter.”

“You’re living in—Addison is the girl—oh my word.”

“
Madison
. Maddy.” The name conjured Maddy’s face, and the image of Maddy’s face conjured guilt.

Abigail shoved her emotions aside.
Truthseeker
. “J. W. goes by Wade now. Wade Ryan. He and his daughter own a ranch here in Moose Creek, keep a very low profile.”

“Are you sure? How can you be sure it’s J. W.?”

“I’m sure, Mom. I’ve been doing some research. He hasn’t changed much in looks, and from what he’s told me of his past, it lines up with what we know of J. W. It’s him, no doubt in my mind.”

“Oh my word! This is perfect. Abigail, do you know what this means?”

“It’s a new day for
Viewpoint
.”

“And just in time. Oh, Abigail, it’s an answered prayer—I have to talk to Larry about the cover—this is the last issue we’re working on—well, not the last issue now! The Truthseeker column is going to save the day! We’ll plaster J. W.’s image on the cover with the words
Celebrity Cowboy Found
or maybe something catchier, and we must use a baby blue background to set off those eyes! What about his wife’s death—have you discovered anything—oh, Abigail, you could be living with a murderer!”

“No, Mom. Wade’s no murderer. I don’t know exactly what happened to his wife, but he didn’t kill her.”

“You can’t know that. I mean, your instincts are great, but you can’t be too careful. Maybe you should move back in with Aunt Lucy . . . we can come up with a reason—”

“Living here puts me in the perfect spot to do my research.”
The perfect spot to betray my new friends
. “Really, Mom, I’m safe. I promise.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You sound, I don’t know . . . strange. Are you sure you’re all right? So much for a relaxing vacation—you’ve been working all this time.”

“I’m fine. I get plenty of rest.”

“Well, put your health first, sweetie.
Viewpoint
is important to me, but nowhere near as important as you.”

“I know that. I’ll keep trying to get more info on Elizabeth’s death, but one way or another, I’ll get the story to you on time. Just save space for my column.”