A Texan for Hire. Amanda Renee
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a tough one, Abby,” Bridgett warned. “If you test the waters with him, I suggest you put on a life vest to keep your head above water. Someone like that can drag you down if you’re not careful.”
Bridgett’s comment surprised Abby, although she should heed her advice considering how long the waitress had known the man. Abby’s job was to help people regain their lives. She wasn’t programmed to walk away. If Bridgett was right and something had happened to Clay, that would explain why he was no longer with the ATF. Far too young to retire, he just didn’t seem to fit the classic post-traumatic stress disorder profile. Not that it was her area of expertise, but she worked with many service people recovering from a range of injuries from limb loss to paralysis.
Clay didn’t have the haunted look in his eyes she’d seen in them. No, he was different, but with only a week and a half left in her vacation, there wasn’t enough time for her to help. At dinner he had asked all the questions, leaving her knowing nothing about him. Then again, that was his job as a private investigator, and her job was not Clay Tanner.
* * *
CLAY OWED ABBY an apology for behaving like a first-class jerk the other night. While they walked back to the Bed & Biscuit, Abby had maintained a chipper attitude, but her bubbliness and energy had faded with each step. Of course that had been Clay’s fault, since he had virtually shut her out once he’d read that fortune cookie. He’d immediately felt as if he betrayed Ana Rosa with his personal interest in Abby.
He had asked himself many times if Ana Rosa would want him to move on or if she damned him to hell for causing her death. As religious as she’d been, in his heart Clay honestly didn’t know if she’d forgive something so heinous. If she had forgiven him for her death, there’d be none when it came to Paulo’s—a brilliant six-year-old with his entire life ahead of him. The little boy had wanted to be an American fireman more than anything—a dream Clay had promised to help fulfill.
He had planned to tell Ana Rosa the truth about his identity once the sting operation ended. Everything she’d known about him, everything she’d fallen in love with, had been a lie. But the lies had been a vital part of his assignment. They’d been necessary to keep them safe—or so he had thought. Clay had sensed things were about to go terribly wrong with that operation, and if he had disobeyed orders and told Ana Rosa and Paulo the truth, they’d still be alive. Instead, he had watched them die. That guilt tore at him each and every day.
Clay wanted to avoid any non-business-related contact with Abby, but there he was, contemplating calling her to apologize. He pulled into his parents’ driveway, then climbed out of the truck, figuring a good dose of home would do him some good. Nothing ever changed at the Tanner house. He always knew what to expect when he walked through the door.
“Morning, Mom.” He let himself in the side entrance. “Something smells good in here.”
“Have a seat, honey.” Fern gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m making waffles and you’re just in time. I hoped you were stopping by. We haven’t seen you for the past few days.”
“Translation,” his father chimed in from the hall archway. “Your mother heard from the Ramblewood Caw & Cackle Society that you went out on a date the other night, and she’s dying for you to tell her all about it. Heard she’s a cute little thing.”
Clay rolled his eyes. His mother was a romantic. She kept scrapbooks from her courtship with his father all the way through Clay’s and his sister’s school years. Fern carefully documented and preserved every family event in one of her many volumes.
“Well?” his mom asked.
Clay’s muscles tensed. “It wasn’t a date. I met a client for dinner to discuss her case.”
“Charlotte Hargrove said you two were walking down Main Street practically hand in hand,” his mother said.
“Charlotte Hargrove needs a life of her own because I assure you Abby and I weren’t holding hands.” Clay roughly pulled out a chair and flopped onto it. “By the end of the night, she was barely speaking to me.”
“What did you do?” Fern placed one hand on her hip and waved a spatula with the other. “You really need to stop running women off and start thinking about settling down. I want grandbabies and your sister, Hannah, vows never to have any. You’re my only hope.” She looked at her husband. “Right, Gage?”
“Fern, give the man a break,” his dad said. “But I’m curious, what did you do to make her stop talking to you? Give a man some pointers, will you?”
His mother threw her dish towel at his father. They made marriage appear so effortless, and Clay couldn’t get through a meal with a woman without ruining things.
After breakfast, he drove halfway home before calling Abby. He owed her an apology. That was it, nothing more. Yet he ended up asking her to meet him at Slater’s Mill later that evening.
Why was he doing this to himself—to her? It wasn’t fair to either one of them. He needed to find her sister quickly so Abby could leave town. Keep telling yourself that, pal. Yep, that’s why he’d already spoken with Shane and planned to introduce Abby to some of the Langtrys tonight so she could hear about their hippotherapy facility and possibly want to stay in Ramblewood. Clay was baiting her, because whether he chose to admit it or not, he wanted Abby in his life.
* * *
THE PARKING LOT at Slater’s Mill was half full when Clay arrived. He parked his truck and checked his reflection in the mirror, gently removing a piece of tissue from his face. In his haste to shower and shave he had nicked his chin. Stupid disposables—a rechargeable razor was his whisker-weapon of choice, but he still hadn’t replaced the one he’d dropped on the bathroom floor last week.
A red-and-white Mini Cooper pulled in alongside him as he stepped from his truck. It must be Abby’s—it suited her personality perfectly. He laughed. His midnight-blue Dodge Ram dwarfed her car. Clay adjusted his summer Stetson, checked his belt buckle to make sure he hadn’t left anything open and ran his palms down the front of his jeans, kicking himself for being as nervous as a fly in a glue pot. He would introduce her to the Langtrys and they’d have one drink. A drink with a woman he found attractive and who filled his every thought.
Abby stepped out of her car. “You look great.” The words unexpectedly escaped his mouth.
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