A Cowboy's Touch (9 page)

She heard the low murmur of his voice and stopped, wondering if he’d be embarrassed to be caught crooning to a cow.

As if sensing her presence, Wade turned. It was the pose from the Sexiest Man photo, minus the ornery smile.

“Maddy okay?” he asked in that low, Texas drawl of his.

“Fine. I was taking a walk and heard you. Everything all right?”

He faced the calf as Abigail approached. “He’s sick.”

She squatted beside Wade. The calf didn’t open his eyes as she ran her hand down his hide. The fur was smooth, not as soft as she expected. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Stress or allergic to the vaccine. They’re vulnerable after they’re worked—little ones like this guy especially.”

“He’ll be okay?”

“Probably not.”

Abigail stroked him again. Poor little guy. Mama stood nearby, and Abigail wondered if the cow knew, if she would grieve her baby.

Wade went to a stall where another calf lay. The animal eyed Wade with huge brown eyes.

“That one sick too?”

“Just weak and stiff. He’ll be fine.” Wade darted a glance at her. “You and Maddy getting on okay?”

Abigail wondered if he’d ever hold eye contact long enough for her to get a read on him. “Sure. She’s a great kid.” Maybe this was a good time to address a couple issues, since he’d asked . . . “She’s at that age where she’s growing like a weed. Would you mind if I took her shopping for a few things?”

She didn’t think she imagined the relief that chased across his features.

“Be fine.” He reached for his wallet.

“We can settle up afterward.”

He nodded once and turned his attention to the calf.

One issue down. One more to go. “We’re thinking of having a picnic lunch soon as it warms up, going for a swim. I know you’re busy, but maybe you could join us.”

Wade tugged his hat. “Got my hands full right now.”

“You have to eat.” She laughed lightly. “How about a picnic dinner? We could have a moonlight swim.” She kept her tone light, but the look in his eyes heated her skin through. Gave her images of a swim that didn’t include Maddy at all.

What’s gotten into you, Abigail? He’s your boss
.

Just as quickly, Wade looked away, pulled off his gloves. “Too cold at night.”

“A Sunday afternoon then.” She didn’t mind using her day off. If it brought father and daughter closer, it was worth it.

“We’ll see.”

She knew a blow-off when she heard one. “Maddy could use some attention. Girls need their daddies, you know.”

His posture stiffened. “Thought you said she was fine.”

“She is fine, but that’s not to say—”

“I love my daughter. Reckon I know what’s best for her.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t come in here and presume to know what’s what. You’ve known Maddy a week. I’ve had her since the day she was born. I’ve raised her alone since—” He looked away, then back in Abigail’s general direction. “We’ve been on our own for a while, and we’re doing just fine. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

Warmth flooded Abigail’s face. She hadn’t been scolded in years, certainly not by a boss. “I’m sorry.” She felt the sudden sting of tears and a desperate need to escape before she humiliated herself. “I think I’ll turn in now. Good night.”

She brushed past him, made her way out of the barn and toward the house. She was only trying to help. So much for her walk. Wade had shattered her peace. How could he be so tender with a sick cow yet disregard his daughter’s needs? He was the only parent the girl had. Couldn’t he see she needed him?

Abigail blinked away the tears, quickening her steps. Why’d he have to be so snippy anyway? He’d asked how Maddy was, and Maddy’s business was Abigail’s business. It wasn’t like she’d butted into his private affairs.

When she entered the house, she saw her laptop on the coffee table. The shower was running upstairs. With Maddy readying for bed and Wade in the barn, it was a good time to call Reagan . . . and put the confrontation with Wade from her mind.

In her room, she retrieved her cell phone and placed the call.

“Sis!” Reagan said. “How’s life in the boonies?”

At the sound of Reagan’s voice, some of Abigail’s stress drained away. “Much as you’d imagine. I would’ve called you earlier, but I figured you’d have a hot date.”

“I did—with an appendix.”

“He make it?”

“
She
made it just fine.” Reagan filled in the details until Abigail was sorry she asked.

“I have a question for you,” Abigail said when Reagan wrapped up her surgery summary. She lowered her voice, just in case. “You remember anything about a rodeo star named J. W. Ryan in the news several years ago?”

“Well, duh, who doesn’t.”

“Me?”

“If only you read the tabloids . . .”

“Spare me.”

Reagan chuckled. “He was a cowboy, a total hunk, in every celeb magazine you could find. His wife died—or got murdered, depending on whom you ask. There was a lot of speculation, then he just disappeared. Which, of course, made everyone suspicious.”

“What do you mean,
disappeared
?”

“I mean fell off the face of the planet. No more interviews, reporters gossiping about what happened to him and his daughter. Why the sudden interest?”

Abigail was supposed to be resting, and having a potential murderer for a boss wasn’t exactly restful. “I ran across some articles online and was curious.”

“You were doing research! Stay off the Internet, Abigail, or I’m telling Mom. How are your symptoms?”

“Better.”

“That’s nice and vague.”

“Stop being a worrywart. How much trouble can I get into in a town the size of Moose Creek?”

“You? Plenty.”

“Ha-ha. Stop worrying and get some sleep before you get another emergency.”

Abigail said good night, then checked on Maddy, who was crawling into bed. She tucked the girl in, retrieved the laptop from the living room, then returned to her room and booted up.

Abigail closed her laptop, her mind reeling. Reagan had been right. There’d been plenty of gossip about Wade’s part in his wife’s death. Some of the articles were over the top—clearly he hadn’t killed his daughter and himself, but he had disappeared.

Had he just grown tired of being the subject of gossip, or was there something more? Something more sinister? He seemed like a nice guy—tonight’s dispute aside—but Abigail knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. People, seemingly normal people, were capable of awful things.

Several articles mentioned a heated argument. Was there another man or woman involved? Did Wade have a temper, had he lost control? The police’s conclusion of accidental death didn’t hold much weight with her. They could be fooled or even bought off.

Was there a connection between Wade’s emotional distance from Maddy and guilt? Was he capable of murder? If he was, Maddy could be in danger. Abigail had seen too much to believe all parents had their children’s best interests at heart, despite what they said.

Her thoughts crept back to the one piece of evidence she couldn’t escape: his running. If Wade had nothing to hide, why not face the questions and state the truth until the gossip died down?

Abigail smothered a yawn and realized she’d gone way past her bedtime. She set the laptop on her nightstand and slipped under the covers, making a decision as she tucked the quilt under her chin.

She wasn’t going to stop until she had answers. One thing she knew from the stories she’d covered: someone always knew something. She just had to find that someone and extract the facts. The truth was out there somewhere, and she was going to uncover it.

10

O
n Sunday Abigail went to church with Aunt Lucy and made a point of listening to the sermon. The preacher taught on the fruit of the Spirit and managed to hold her attention, and Aunt Lucy’s friends were as welcoming as they’d been the week before.

She and her aunt ate a simple lunch in the cabin. Abigail stayed alert for signs of dementia. Aunt Lucy had asked her twice if she wanted ice cream and had once been unable to come up with the word
futile
. But that could happen to anyone, right?

Through the afternoon, Abigail also tried to draw information from her aunt about Wade. Abigail went into it determined to take every comment seriously, no matter how absurd it sounded—after all, the Sexiest Man Alive had panned out. But Aunt Lucy had nothing new to share, ridiculous or not.

So Abigail left that evening, feeling troubled about Aunt Lucy’s health and disheartened that she’d turned up nothing on Wade. She had to keep trying.

There were a few ways of collecting information. The Internet, questioning others, and Abigail’s least favorite, snooping. She’d continue her online research and question people in Wade’s life. Wade was the one who knew for sure, but he also had the most to lose and would therefore be the hardest one to crack.

Her next step was to see how much Maddy remembered. Also, Wade may have confided in Dylan. They seemed to have a long history together. Greta and Pee Wee were potential sources. Wade may have shared information with his cowhand, and if Pee Wee knew something, it was likely he’d shared it with his wife.

The summer was looking more interesting. She would continue to observe Aunt Lucy, take care of Maddy, and investigate Wade’s past on the side. If he was guilty of murder, she was going to find out and make sure justice was done.

Her mother wouldn’t be happy if she found out what Abigail was doing. But she could hardly stand by and let a potential murderer get off scot-free, could hardly risk a young girl’s safety.

Abigail eyed the blond horse skeptically. Her huge buggy eyes stared back, and Abigail was sure the horse was just as dubious about her.

“Are you sure she’s gentle?”

“Yep. Her name’s Trinket, and Dad said she’s the best in his string for a beginner.”

The word
beginner
didn’t set well with Abigail even if she was officially, and okay, unofficially, exactly that. “Hi, Trinket.” She stroked the horse’s side. “She’s kind of big.”

“You can reach the stirrup. Put your foot in there.”

Abigail slipped her sneakered foot into the hole. Sure, she’d seen it on done on TV, but seeing and doing? Not the same thing, as she discovered when Trinket lumbered forward, knocking her off balance.

Abigail dragged her foot along the ground. “Stop!”

“Whoa, girl.” Maddy took the reins. “Swing your leg over.”

“Here goes nothing.” Abigail put her weight in the stirrup and swung her leg over. Next thing she knew, she was in the saddle. “Hey, I did it.”

“Told you it was easy. We should’ve gotten you some boots Saturday.”

“I know, I know.”

Maddy adjusted Abigail’s stirrups, mounted Destiny like she’d been born in the saddle, then led them past the corrals toward open pasture.

Abigail grabbed the saddle horn as Trinket plodded along. There was more movement up here than she’d expected.

“Let your body kind of roll with it,” Maddy said.

Abigail made an effort to relax, letting her body sway. Slowly she began to trust that she wouldn’t fall. She even released the horn and gripped the leather reins with both hands.