A Cowboy's Touch (7 page)

A message waited on her phone. Marla at Pappy’s Market had seen a pink bike in front of Movie Magic Video on her way to work. She’d just left the message four minutes earlier.

“Maddy, we’ve got a break on the case.”

Maddy’s eyes went to the laptop case. “I didn’t do it. I was real careful when I brought it in.”

Abigail laughed. “The
bicycle
case. That was Marla from the market.” She repeated the message. “The bike might still be there. You know where the truck keys are?”

“Sure do!”

They retrieved the keys from a hook in the kitchen and trotted to the old red truck. It started with a cough and a sputter, then Abigail maneuvered it out of its space. They stopped by the corral to let Wade know, then headed down the drive.

“You think it’s my bike?” Maddy asked once they were on the main road.

“Are there any other pink bikes in town?”

“Not that I know of.”

They were so close. If they could only get there before the bike disappeared, they’d catch their thief red-handed.

“Can’t you go faster?”

“I’m going the speed limit.” Her foot itched to press down, but she had to be mindful of setting a good example.

When they reached town, Abigail turned toward the video store. They both leaned forward in their seats, peering around the parked cars in front of the stores.

“There it is!” Maddy said.

“Is it yours?” Abigail parked on the opposite side of the street.

“Sure looks like it. It’s got a white basket. Mine had a scratch on the frame from when I took a spill on the driveway, so I’ll know for sure when we get close.”

They exited the truck, waited for a pickup to pass, and darted across the street.

Maddy squatted in front of the bike. “There it is! Look!”

Abigail leaned over and eyed the long silver scuff on the frame. “Wait here,” she told Maddy, heading toward the store’s entrance. But before she could grasp the handle, the door opened.

A girl slipped past Abigail, turned toward the bike, and stopped short. From behind, Abigail could see the child’s shoulders lift and draw inward. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the plastic bag in her hand.

Maddy rose to her feet, her eyebrows drawn together. “You stole my bike.”

The girl turned to run and smacked into Abigail’s stomach. Abigail took the girl’s shoulders. “Wait just a minute, young lady.”

Tears welled up in brown eyes that were wide and frightened. “I’m sorry!”

“You knew it was my bike, Olivia.”

So it was the girl from school, the one without a father. “Stealing is a crime, Olivia. Why did you take Maddy’s bike?”

“I’m sorry! I figured she didn’t need it! I knew her dad would buy her a new one.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s yours to take!” Maddy said.

Abigail looked at Olivia. The girl’s stringy brown hair hadn’t been washed in days, and she fairly swam in her white T-shirt and jeans.

“She can have it back.” Olivia dragged her hand across her wet cheeks. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry, Maddy!”

The girl seemed earnest, and Maddy had her bike back, but they weren’t finished. Abigail hated to burden Olivia’s mom, but the woman needed to know her daughter had stolen.

“Can I go now?” Olivia cradled the video bag.

“I’m afraid we need to talk with your mom, Olivia.”

“Please! I wanted a bike so bad, and we can’t afford one. I said I won’t do it again.”

Abigail glanced at Maddy. Her face had softened, and she stared back at Abigail, uncertain.

“I’m sorry, Olivia, but your mother needs to know the truth.”

Abigail stowed the bike in the truck as Maddy and Olivia climbed into the cab. She pulled the truck onto the street, then turned toward Olivia’s property. The girls sat silently beside her. The road stretched before them and seemed to lengthen with every sniffle.

When they finally turned into Olivia’s drive, Abigail breathed a sigh. In the distance, the girl’s house loomed bleak and gray under a cast of clouds. Her mother’s vehicle, an old white truck, sat in the drive.

The girl’s lips were trembling by the time they started up the overgrown walk to the house. Maddy had fallen in behind them.

It was up to Abigail to be strong. “Olivia, go get your mom. If you like, you can tell her yourself, and we’ll wait for her here.”

Olivia’s head dropped as she entered the house slowly.

“Maybe we don’t have to talk to her mom,” Maddy said. “I have my bike back.”

“It’s very sweet that you’re concerned for Olivia, honey. I feel for her too, but stealing your bike was a choice she made, a bad one, and she might do it again, or even do something worse. It’s hard for Olivia now, but it might save her a lot of trouble later.”

“I know, I just wish . . .” Maddy scanned the house and yard. “I don’t think she has much. And she’s right. Dad probably would’ve bought me another bike.”

A woman appeared at the door. Through the screen, Olivia’s mom didn’t look much older than Abigail. She had flawless olive skin and wore a low ponytail.

“I’m Shay, Olivia’s mom. Olivia told me what she did.”

“I’m Abigail, Maddy’s nanny.”

Shay’s eyes shifted to Maddy. “I’m truly sorry, hon. She won’t do it again.” She turned to the side. “Livy, come here and apologize.”

“She already did,” Maddy said, but Olivia appeared and whispered an apology anyway.

“I’ll be grounding her for a suitable length of time, and maybe she can come out to your place and work to pay you back for your trouble. But I’d be obliged if you didn’t press charges.”

“No, we won’t,” Abigail said. “I’ll call the sheriff to let him know it’s been resolved, but I thought you should know.”

“Thank you,” Shay said, nudging Olivia.

“Yeah, thank you,” Olivia whispered.

Abigail nodded and smiled, then she and Maddy turned away from the house and got into the truck. They were to the end of the lane before either spoke.

“I’m glad I have my bike back,” Maddy said in a somber tone, “but that was hard.”

“I know. Sometimes telling the truth is the hardest thing to do.” And sometimes, not telling the truth would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Abigail peeked out the front door where Maddy and Wade sat on the porch swing. Darkness had long since enveloped the yard, swallowing all but a glowing cone of porch light. It cast a golden light across their faces, lighting Wade’s dark hair like a shimmering fire.

“I’m headed to my room,” Abigail said.

“’Night,” they said.

“Wade, could I get the wireless password? You have a secure network.”

He lowered his copy of
Livestock Weekly
. “Didn’t set that stuff up, but I might’ve used our phone number. Or the word
password
.”

“All right, I’ll try them both. Thanks.”

Abigail retreated to her room and pushed the door closed. After getting into her pajamas, she settled against the feather pillows with her laptop.

“Let’s see if we can get this to work.” She opened Network Connections and tried the word
password
. Denied access, she fumbled through her purse for her cell phone to find the ranch phone number and entered it.

Bingo.

Wi-Fi was a beautiful thing. She’d be able to conduct research for her identity theft story now, not to mention stay in touch with family via e-mail.

She checked her messages and found one from her mom and one from her sister. Reagan mentioned that their mom was concerned about
Viewpoint
, but she didn’t go into detail. Mom hadn’t said anything in her e-mail, but she was probably trying to shelter Abigail, especially where
Viewpoint
was concerned. She knew Abigail would be back at work in a blink if she thought she could help. Abigail replied to them both, assuring her mother she was getting plenty of rest, despite her new job, and that her headaches and palpitations were better, and asking Reagan just what she meant.

Once that was done, she Googled “Wade Ryan sexiest man alive,” rolling her eyes at her own stupidity as she hit Enter.

Please, don’t ever let him snoop through my Internet history
.

The links page came up.
No results found
. Well, duh. What did she think she’d find?

On impulse, she did another search, this one more general, and clicked on a link for a list of Sexiest Man Alive winners. She was nothing if not thorough.

Abigail scanned the list for Wade’s name, starting with the most current year and going backward. When she reached 1998, she stopped and scanned back toward the most recent entry.

This was ridiculous. She couldn’t believe she was following up on a wacky statement from Aunt Lucy, backed only by an odd look from Wade. So much for intuition.

She started to close the page, but her eye caught on a name.
J. W. Ryan
.

Right last name, but she’d never heard of J. W. Ryan. Even Abigail had heard of the other winners. Whoever J. W. Ryan was, he was the winner of the contest six years ago. She clicked on the name, and a new page began opening.

A photo appeared, and Abigail’s breath caught in her lungs and held there. It was a younger Wade. He wore a black cowboy hat and a cocky, almost ornery, grin. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, which looked startlingly blue against his tanned skin.

Talk about palpitations. They were back with a vengeance.

Someone knocked on the door, and Abigail jumped. She snapped the laptop closed. “Who is it?” Her voice came out sharp.

“It’s me, Maddy.”

She tried for casual. “Come in.”

Maddy slipped inside. “Just wanted to say thanks for finding my bike. Sorry if I didn’t seem grateful before.”

“You were just concerned for Olivia.”

“I wish I’d been nicer to her at school.”

“It’s never too late. Maybe we can have her over sometime.”

Maddy perked up. “I’ll bet she’d like to go riding.”

Abigail smiled. “I’ll bet she would. We could take a picnic and make an afternoon of it.”

“There’s a spot by the river that has a great swimming hole . . . when it’s a little warmer.”

“That sounds like fun.”

Maddy shifted toward the door. “Great. Well, I’m going to take a shower. ’Night.”

“’Night, honey.”

When the door clicked closed, Abigail laid her head against the headboard and drew a breath. For heaven’s sake, it was like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

She opened the laptop again and watched as the photo of Wade appeared on the screen. She read the paragraph beside the picture.

J. W. Ryan may be the world’s most decorated cowboy, with five World All-Around titles, but he’s also a treat for the eyes. Standing at 6'2" and weighing in at 194 pounds, he’s without a doubt made of tough stock. But according to those who know him, he’s a focused competitor, an attentive husband, and a tender father to daughter Madison, 5. And with a grin like that, it’s no wonder he’s become the world’s most famous cowboy.

Abigail stared at the screen. Amazing. The man was apparently famous, or had been a handful of years ago, and yet here he was on a cattle ranch in Middle-of-Nowhere, Montana.

Why had he come here? Did the townspeople and neighbors know who he was? Aunt Lucy knew about the award; did everyone else? Maddy hadn’t seemed to know. Of course, she’d only been five at the time, but hadn’t anyone told her? Why did he go by Wade and not J. W.? Was he trying to hide? And if he was, why?

Curious, she did another search, this time typing
J. W. Ryan
. Pages and pages of links followed. There were articles about him in
Cowboy Sports News, Rodeo Magazine, People, American Cowboy, ESPN
, and the
Denver Post
, not to mention all the trashy tabloids.

How had she never heard of the man? Of course, she’d been immersed in college at the time, and her sister had always said she was clueless when it came to celebrities.

Abigail clicked on a link for the
Houston Chronicle
, wanting something more substantial than a fluff piece and figuring the Texas paper might have the scoop on their local cowboy celebrity. The headline read
J. W. Ryan Questioned in Wife’s Death
.