A Texan for Hire. Amanda Renee
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I’ll have anything by then. There are quite a few unknown factors in this case, but I’ll give you a status update every couple of days.”
“Here you go.” Maggie placed two slices of pie in front of them. “It’s on me, welcoming you to town.”
Abby smiled. “Thank you.” The scents of vanilla bean and rich custard wafted upward. If she could, she’d bottle the scent and bathe in it. She ran the side of her fork through the tip of the slice and lifted it to her mouth. Whipped cream melted into rum, with a slight tang that danced across her tongue.
“Oh, Maggie.” Abby’s eyes closed in bliss. “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear. Enjoy.” The woman left them to their dessert.
“Uh-oh,” Clay teased. “The Magpie has claimed another victim. You will forever crave Maggie’s pies from this point forward.”
“I swear.” Abby waved her fork above the pie, taking another bite. “This is better than sex.”
“I’ll admit, it’s pretty darn good, but darling, if you think pie is better than sex, you’re doing it all wrong.” He winked.
Abby folded her arms across her chest and laughed. “You may just have a point there.”
She finished her pie, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I’m staying at Mazie’s Bed and Biscuit if you need me. I wrote my cell number on the inside of the folder even though I’m sure you already have it on your phone. I’ll leave you to your work.”
She swung her legs out from under the table, holding on to her skirt for dear life. Note to self, wear booth-appropriate clothing for future meetings. When she pulled her wallet from her bag, Clay rose and placed his hand on hers. There was that damn surge through her body again.
“Lunch is on me.” Clay’s hand lingered, giving hers another gentle squeeze. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
Abby fought the urge to reach up and give him a thank-you kiss, but thought better of it. No need to embarrass herself. His touch felt warm and comfortable, and after the past month, she needed human contact. She needed a hug, dammit—but she’d settle for this—for now.
* * *
THE CURVE OF Abby’s toned calves caught Clay’s eye as she headed for the door. How in the world she teetered on heels that high was beyond him. However, he appreciated the way they made her legs seem endless. The short skirt she wore added to the effect. What she lacked in height, Abby Winchester made up in confidence.
Although she was a bit too fancy for these parts, she definitely made the blood pump through his veins a little faster. But Abby was a client, and he knew enough not to mix business with pleasure. He’d made that mistake once and he’d have to live with the aftermath of it for the rest of his life.
Kay had sent Abby his way and now he wondered if it was because she thought he was the man for the job or if she thought he was the man for Abby. He didn’t understand why the Langtrys had a sudden interest in his love life. It wouldn’t be fair for any woman to get involved with him, not when he had nothing left to give.
Regardless of Kay’s reasons, Clay had a job to do, and until it was complete, he wasn’t going to lose sight of who Abby was. A client. He just wished she hadn’t run off so quickly after they had finished their pie. Another cup of coffee would have given him the opportunity to ask her a little more about her family and herself...purely for investigative purposes.
Clay had to admit, this was definitely his most difficult locate case since he’d become a private investigator. Nothing like zero information to go on. He redirected his attention to the papers before him. In a small town like Ramblewood, someone was bound to remember Abby’s family.
“Refill?” Bridgett held the pot over his cup.
“Yes, please.” Bridgett Jameson—here was a woman any man would be lucky to settle down with. His friend Jon Reese had a crush on her. If she’d only give the poor guy a chance. “Are you sure you won’t let Jon take you to the movies this weekend?”
“I’m sorry, Clay, he’s not the one,” she called over her shoulder, walking behind the counter.
The one. Clay had had his one and he’d lost her. He admired Bridgett for holding out, and he hoped once she found him, she held on tight. Life was too short, too fragile. In a matter of seconds, it could blow up in your face, taking all you loved with it.
“He’s definitely single,” Mazie said over breakfast the next morning as she and Abby sat at the large dining table with a few of the other guests. “I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he moved back to town a few years ago.”
“Interesting.” Abby fiddled with her fork.
“I’m willing to bet if you head down the road to Slater’s Mill tonight, you’ll find him there, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Slater’s Mill?” An unexplained wave of anticipation washed over Abby at the thought of seeing Clay again.
“It’s a little honky-tonk a few blocks away. They have a big dance floor and there’s a band playing most nights. Just continue down Shelby and you’ll see it on your left. If you cross Cooter Creek you went too far.”
Abby immediately tried to visualize her clothing options, realizing her suitcase didn’t offer much by way of evening clothes. A social life after the sun set had never crossed her mind, so she had packed knitting needles and yarn, instead. She wasn’t usually this unprepared. She habitually overpacked when traveling. But once she’d decided to head to Ramblewood, she had focused solely on finding her sister, not the local bar scene.
“Is there any place I can buy something to wear tonight?”
“There’s Cowpokes across the street, but that’s more Western wear. You look more like the Margarita’s Ragpatch type. It’s one block down past the cleaner’s and Promise Travel. Big store, you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks for your help.”
Why did she care what she wore in front of a man she wouldn’t be around long enough to know much about? Between problems at work and the search for her sister, she didn’t have room in her life for a relationship, even a temporary one. If she were being honest with herself, though, she’d never felt more alone than she did now. Abby sensed Clay understood where she was coming from.
There had been a look of recognition in his eyes when she’d told him about Walter. His comforting touch had given Abby the impression he’d gone through similar grief.
Anyway, what was wrong with some much-needed, lighthearted fun—with the opposite sex? Normally, the thought of hitting a club was a drag, but that was because her coworkers and Wyatt usually brought dates.
After Abby found a dress and boots at Margarita’s Ragpatch, she headed back to the Bed & Biscuit. Perched on the edge of her four-poster bed, Duffy rested alongside her, exhausted from another afternoon romp at the Bark Park.
The room was larger than she had envisioned it would be when she had read the online brochure. Quintessential Victorian, yet one hundred percent pet safe. A romantic, floral stencil covered the walls, which meant no loose wallpaper seams to entice curious animals to pull.
On the bed laid a heavily embossed, yet easily laundered matelassé coverlet. Every piece of furniture was tall, with open access underneath for pets to retreat to, if they so pleased. Bed steps allowed older pets, and more petite guests, to settle in for the evening with little effort—a feature Abby was particularly happy to see. Needing a running head start in order to leap into bed was not her idea of a nightcap.
Safety covers protected electrical outlets so wayward paws and curious noses didn’t poke where they shouldn’t. The room was free of lace so small