A Cowboy's Touch (30 page)

“There’s not going to be an article.”

“I wish there were a choice, Wade, I really do, but I’m backed into a corner.”

“You got nothing on me, Abigail. You don’t know squat about Lizzie. All you know is where I live, and by the time that issue hits the stands, we’ll be long gone.”

She froze. Gone? They were moving? Or had she heard wrong, for all the roaring in her head? “What?”

“You heard me. We’re moving.”

No. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. “Oh, Wade, don’t—”

He jabbed his open hand into the air. “This is how it’s going down. I’m taking Maddy to town for a while. You’re going into the house to pack, and when we come back you’re going to be gone—”

“No, please—”

“You’re going to leave, and you’re not coming back.” He drilled her with a look so cold she shivered. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

His words knocked the breath from her. Not see him, not see Maddy ever again? Worse, he thought she’d betrayed his trust, that she’d manipulated him into revealing his most private thoughts.

And worse yet . . . wasn’t it true?

She should have told him. She never should have done the story to begin with. It wasn’t worth losing the man she loved, worth hurting a little girl who’d already been hurt so much.

“I can’t just leave,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I love you.”

Wade turned his face, looked away. His jaw twitched. “Stop it.”

Footsteps sounded behind her. “Ready to go, Dad!”

No, not Maddy. Abigail couldn’t deal with her, too, couldn’t process it all.

“What’s wrong?” Maddy asked, no doubt feeling the tension that cut through the building.

Wade closed the distance between himself and Abigail. She met his cold gaze, begged him to change his mind.

“Tell her you’re leaving,” he whispered, for her ears only. His eyes were shiny black pebbles set in a face of granite.

Her eyes stung with tears. “I don’t want to leave, Wade.
Please
.”

“Tell her you’re leaving and not coming back.” His calm doggedness was unnerving.

She couldn’t tell Maddy that, couldn’t let her think she didn’t matter to Abigail. She couldn’t bear to hurt her.

She wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t hurt Maddy even more. “No.”

He lowered his voice again. “Should I tell her what you did? I’ll do it. I’ll do it right now, Abigail.” He left no doubt in her mind he’d carry out the threat.

She couldn’t let Maddy find out like this. She’d know the truth eventually, but it wasn’t going to be now, with Wade breathing fire.

“Abigail?” Maddy was closer now. “Daddy? What’s going on?”

Wade looked at Abigail. Hiked his brows.
Tell her
, his eyes said.

Abigail sucked in a breath of musty dirt and blinked away her tears. She turned, tried for a smile and failed, then took Maddy’s hand instead. “Honey, I’m afraid I have to leave.” Her voice was broken and small.

“You can’t go swimming?”

This was so hard. Abigail tried to swallow the lump in her throat, cleared her throat. “No, I mean I have to go back to Chicago.”

Maddy looked between the two of them. “Your plane leaves Saturday. I know that.”

“I . . . I know. It does, but I have to go earlier. Now.”

“But why?” Maddy whined.

“I . . . I can’t explain right now. But maybe I can come back later and—”

Wade cleared his throat pointedly.

She squatted to Maddy’s level. “Honey, no matter what happens, I want you to know that—”

“Are you coming back?” the girl asked.

Oh, God, what do I say?
What could she say with Wade standing over her shoulder editing each word?

“You are coming back, aren’t you?” Maddy’s volume increased frantically. She looked at her dad, then back at Abigail. “Aren’t you?” Her eyes filled.

“Maddy, I—” The words caught in her throat. What could she say? She couldn’t admit Wade was making her leave, wouldn’t let her come back. What good would it do to turn the child against her father? Better that she thought it was Abigail’s fault.

After all, it really was, wasn’t it?

“I hate you!” Maddy fled from the barn.

The words cut into her. She couldn’t leave Maddy feeling that way. Abigail started after her.

Wade blocked her path, stared down at her with those cold, hard eyes. “You’ve done enough.”

She wanted to comfort Maddy, tell her she loved her, that she hadn’t meant to hurt them. But maybe Wade was right. Maybe that was best left for him to handle.

Abigail met his eyes and felt them slice clean through her heart. He was right. She’d done way more than enough.

34

A
bigail woke early the next morning, her eyes swollen, her heart heavy. She showered, returned her belongings to her suitcase, then crept into her aunt’s kitchen where she forced down a slice of toast. Her new flight to Chicago left in three hours from Bozeman, and the cab would be arriving soon.

She couldn’t believe her time in Montana had come to this. She wanted to collapse onto the sofa, pull the quilt over her head, and stay there. She glanced out the kitchen window toward Wade’s ranch. She wanted to go see him, wanted to set things right between them. But the memory of that cold look in his eyes was enough to shatter that fantasy.

She’d been a wreck when she’d shown up on her aunt’s doorstep the previous day. Aunt Lucy had listened patiently as she’d poured out the whole story, from the article to her feelings for Wade, her words tumbling out in a jumbled mess.

Now the overhead light flipped on as Aunt Lucy entered the kitchen, knotting the belt of her robe around her thick waist. “’Morning, dear.”

Abigail looked away from the pity in her aunt’s eyes. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I wanted to see you off. Are you sure I can’t drive you?” Aunt Lucy sank into the nearest chair.

“I’m sure. The cab’ll be here any minute.”

“I’d ask how you’re feeling, but it’s all over your face.”

Abigail swallowed the last bite of toast and pushed back her plate. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve made a mess, and it’s too big to . . .” A lump swelled in her throat, forcing off her words.

“There’s only one thing you can do at a time like this, honey: pray hard. God knows all you’ve done, and He knows your heart. Trust Him to lead you.”

Abigail wanted this fixed. She wanted to go back in time and do things differently, but that wasn’t possible. “You’re right. I know you are, it’s just hard—” She swallowed against the lump.

“Love is never easy.”

A car horn tooted outside.

“My ride.” They stood and hugged. Abigail kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Aunt Lucy. I love you.”

“Love you too, child. I’ll be praying for you.”

Abigail gathered her things and started for the door.

“Oh, one more thing.” Aunt Lucy waddled across the room and plucked a doll from the sofa. “Take Lydia.” She handed the doll to Abigail. “She’s my best comforter.”

35

A
bigail stared at the blinking cursor. The page was blank except for the title. Every now and then she wrote a sentence, reread it, then hit Backspace.

The hum of the computer was the only sound in the office. Beyond her cubicle, the room was empty.

Just like her heart.

Outside the shaded windows a car roared past, the bass thumping from its stereo. A distant car alarm shrieked.

She missed the sound of the wind rustling through tall grass. Missed the big blue sky that stretched as far as you could see. Missed the hills that rolled like waves in a never-ending ocean.

Stop it
. She had to stop this incessant torture. Get back to work.

Her column for the last issue of
Viewpoint
had been canceled and the cover was undergoing a hasty redesign. It was over. She’d let everyone down. Her mom, all the employees, and most of all, Wade and Maddy.

Her eyes swung to the title in the header of her document.
Moose Creek
. She was going to squeeze the travel article into the September issue in place of her column. Since Maddy and Wade wouldn’t be there, what could it hurt? At least a little good might come from her ill-fated stay in Moose Creek. Only trouble was, she couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t find a way to describe the town, the people. Couldn’t find a way to explain how special it was, how much they’d all affected her.

A pounding on the front door broke the silence. She pushed back from her desk and walked toward the entry. Reagan waved from the other side of the glass door. She looked nice in her trendy jeans and red blouse.

Abigail twisted the two deadbolts and opened the door.

“You look awful,” her sister offered by way of greeting.

“Thanks.”

“Why are you here?” Reagan tucked her brown hair behind her ears.

Abigail locked the door and started for her desk. “Working on an article.”

“It’s Saturday. By the looks of you, you should be home taking a nap.”

Abigail shrugged. “Can’t sleep.” She’d had a constant headache since her return to Chicago five days earlier. If her thoughts of Wade and Maddy didn’t keep her awake, her palpitations did. The bags under her eyes could hold her wardrobe.

Abigail dropped into her chair and rolled close to her desk. The screen saver had kicked on, mercifully sparing her those two words.

Reagan perched on the corner of her desk. “You didn’t answer your cell.”

Abigail pulled it from her purse. “Oh. It’s dead.” Not like Wade was trying to reach her. “Thought you were having lunch with Dr. Steve.”

“Just got home and tried to call you. I was worried when I couldn’t get through. You have a headache, don’t you? Are you taking your meds?”

“Yes, Mother.” She was getting what she deserved for hurting two people who least deserved it. Ironic how exposing truth had always felt so satisfying. This time it only felt wrong.

“You’re scaring me, Abs.”

There was already enough guilt flowing through Abigail to float a boat. “Sorry.” She was getting good at letting people down.

“The cowboy really got to you, didn’t he?”

The word put an instant image of Wade in her mind. Hat tipped low over his blue eyes, lips curved in a barely-there smile. The shallow cleft in his chin. The image was so real, she felt like she could reach out and touch him.

Then he was gone. She’d dreamed about him last night. It was as close to him as she was getting. The thought weighed her down.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Abigail said.

“Have you tried calling him?”

Abigail frowned, crossed her arms.

“Talking is therapeutic.” Reagan crossed her own arms and waited. “Well, have you?”

Her sister wasn’t going away, wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her best angry look. “Yes, Dr. Freud, I have. Many times. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t want to talk to me, obviously, and can you blame him? I left a message telling him not to move, that we weren’t publishing the article, but do you really think he’ll believe me at this point? You think he’ll chance their future on my promise? ’Cause I don’t.”

She’d wondered a thousand times what he’d told Maddy. If the girl hated Abigail as much as Wade did. But hadn’t she said as much?

“You really do love him.”

A familiar ache filled her stomach—filled the hole that had been there since she’d left Wade standing in the barn. When Abigail was packing, she’d heard Maddy crying outside, had watched from her window as Wade put his daughter in the truck and drove away, his tires spitting up dirt and gravel. It was the last time she’d seen them.

“You were only doing your job, honey,” Reagan said.

Her job. A lame excuse. “I let so many people down. My work has always left me fulfilled. After I finish a column, I’m almost overwhelmed with a sense of justice. It’s what keeps me going . . . it’s why I write.”

“But now you feel . . .”

“Empty.” No other word for it. She’d never had a story go so wrong. The column had failed,
Viewpoint
would be canceled, and she’d hurt two people she loved. “I never should’ve gone after this story.”

“It fell into your lap—what were you going to do? It was right up your alley.”

“No. My column exposes wrongs. I investigate, get the facts, then I expose the evil or immorality. But Wade’s not evil or immoral. He did nothing wrong. He was just trying to move on with his life after his wife died, trying to protect his daughter.”

She remembered what he said about letting Lizzie down, how he felt he’d failed her. Was he feeling that way about Maddy now? All because of her? She palmed her eyes. “And now they’re moving because of me.”

Reagan’s hand smoothed Abigail’s hair. “You didn’t plan for that to happen.”

“I told myself that if the article showed him as the hero he is, everything would be okay. I was kidding myself. I should’ve told him the truth.” She gave a wry laugh. “The Truthseeker. I’m beginning to hate that word.” Wade was right. She didn’t know the first thing about truth.