Big Sky Romance Collection Page 5

  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 sl
ipped 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.

  Abigail frowned at the photo of Wade walking into a building with two uniformed officers. She read the article.

  World Rodeo champion J. W. Ryan was brought in for questioning yesterday following his wife’s unexpected death. Sources say Elizabeth Montgomery-Ryan died unexpectedly in the couple’s home late Friday night. J. W. Ryan reportedly found his wife and called 911. The police say they have no suspects at this time and that their questioning of Ryan is standard procedure.

  Abigail didn’t know what to feel first. The thought of Wade losing his young wife and then being questioned about her death was horrific. Was he with his wife when she died? Was Maddy? Abigail could only hope not.

  Had the police’s questioning really been standard procedure? Surely he hadn’t been involved in the murder of his wife—his daughter’s mother. But why else would he have moved so far away, and under a different name? What had happened after the questioning?

  She could find out easily enough.

  She did another search, confining it to the investigation of his wife’s death, and clicked on an article in the Houston Chronicle dated several weeks later.

  Nearly a month after the death of rodeo celebrity J. W. Ryan’s wife, police have declared the death an accident. Speculations about the cause of Elizabeth Ryan’s death have been fueled by a heated argument the couple reportedly had the night of her death.

  So he was cleared. Abigail felt a blanket of relief cover her, for Maddy’s sake, not to mention her own safety. The rest of the article turned up no new information.

  Why did Wade move? Was it only to escape the speculation and gossip? Surely that died down when the police cleared him. Why move so far away, go by Wade instead of J. W.? Why give up the rodeo circuit, which had apparently earned him a fortune?

  Abigail clicked on another link, but it restated the same information. She skimmed articles for more details and found only redundant pieces from the Associated Press.

  It was too painstaking to search through links. Where could she get more information? Who would know the details?

  Reagan. Her sister had read celebrity tabloids since she was twelve. She’d know about this story. Abigail checked her watch, surprised to see over an hour had passed since she’d begun. It was an hour later in Chicago, but Reagan would still be up.

  She unplugged her phone and dialed her sister’s number. It rang four times, then voice mail kicked in. Abigail considered leaving a message, but changed her mind. She’d call Reagan back when she was sure there was no one around to hear.

  She closed the phone, plugged it into the charger, and reluctantly shut down her computer. It was late, and Maddy rose early. Abigail needed to turn in, but she knew from past experience that questions would hover like pesky mosquitoes until she found answers.

  8

  Abigail woke before dawn the next morning. Moonlight still filtered through her eyelet curtains, illuminating the silver case of her laptop on the nightstand. All she’d read about Wade the night before came rushing back.

  She sat up and glanced at her cell phone. It was too early, even in Chicago, for a phone call. It would have to wait until tonight. Besides, she admitted to herself as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the speculations she’d read last night seemed less substantial now.

  The police had ruled the death an accident. Regardless of how the accident occurred, Wade had suffered a tremendous loss. According to the articles, he’d found the woman he loved lying dead in their home.

  Abigail rubbed her temple, realizing as she did so that she’d woken with a headache. She fumbled through her purse for Tylenol, then padded into the bathroom, hoping for a glass. No such luck.

  Resigning herself to an early morning, she felt her way down the stairs, cringing at the creaks, hoping not to wake Maddy or Wade. Especially not Wade, as she was still in her pajamas, her hair a tousled mess.

  In the kitchen, she filled a glass, took the pills, then headed back to her room. The floor was cold against her bare feet, and outside the living room window she could see the purple fingers of dawn stretching across the sky.

  She found the stair railing and followed it up the flight, congratulating herself for missing the squeaks this time. Now if she could just go back to sleep for a couple hours. Maddy wouldn’t be up for another—

  Her body collided with something hard. She braced herself against it.

  There was warmth to the hardness. Motion. Not it.

  Him. She was such a klutz.

  “What the—”

  “Sorry . . .” she whispered. “I didn’t expect anyone to be up.” She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his hands on her arms, warm against her bare skin. Then they were gone.

  “Always up this early.” His voice was a sleepy drawl.

  Now that she’d recovered, she realized her own fingers were on his shirt, realized she was absently stroking the soft—flannel?— fabric.

  She jerked her hands away, feeling like a fool. Thank God he couldn’t see the heat flooding her face. “I was just—I needed some water. I’m going back to bed.”

  She ducked her head and dodged past him. When she reached her room, she slipped inside, closed the door, and told herself the fluttering of her heart was only from the fright of Wade’s sudden appearance.

  Wade nudged Ace toward his friend Dylan as he watched Pee Wee and his neighbor O’Neil work a big calf that was putting up a fight.

/>   Dylan laughed. “My grandma could do better’n that, O’Neil.”

  O’Neil tightened his hold on the calf’s hindquarters, swearing when one hoof got loose and kicked off his hat.

  Wade sat back in the saddle, grinning. The calf was definitely winning. He was glad Maddy was watching. It gave credence to his caution.

  Wade removed his hat, ran his sleeve across his face. Ever since Maddy and Abigail had appeared at the fence ten minutes ago, he’d been distracted by their presence.

  Not their presence, he corrected. Her presence. He didn’t know what it was about Abigail that had him all hot and bothered. Sure she was attractive, but it was more than that. He felt like she could look right through him, and it was disconcerting.

  Yeah, that’s all it was. He was disconcerted. Especially this morning when her soft body had smacked up against him.

  “Who’s the pretty young thing?” Dylan jerked his head toward the fence.

  “My daughter.”

  Dylan tossed Wade a look.

  Wade didn’t like the way his friend eyed Abigail. “Maddy’s new nanny from Chicago.”

  He grinned. “That’s some nanny. She got a boyfriend?”

  “What happened to Brittney? Or Bridgett or whatever?”

  “Got bored. What’s the story on the nanny?”

  Wade shoved his hat on his head. “Name’s Abigail. Miss Lucy’s great-niece. Here short-term, for the summer.”

  “Wouldn’t mind me a summer romance.”

  Wade frowned at Dylan, but it was lost on his friend, who was still checking out Abigail. Dylan would consider the short-term part a bonus. Wade loved the guy like a brother, but his friend didn’t know the meaning of the word commitment when it came to women.

  “Unless you’re interested,” Dylan said.

  While Wade’s mind had wandered, Dylan had shifted his attention to Wade’s face, which no doubt reflected his thoughts.

  “’Cause if you’re interested,” Dylan continued, “I’d consider it a good thing. A man needs a little feminine companionship, know what I’m saying?”

  Wade’s gaze darted to Abigail, and just as swiftly his mind sifted through all the reasons Abigail didn’t deserve him. All the reasons no woman deserved him.