of Walter Davidson, her biological father, and had ended with the hospital board once again turning down her animal-assisted therapy proposal. As a physical therapist, Abby was determined to increase her patients’ rehabilitation options, and despite the hospital’s latest rejection, she vowed to continue fighting for the program she so passionately believed in.
And she would have focused on a new course of action if it weren’t for one thing...the note the nurse had given her after Walter died. Scrawled in his handwriting on a piece of scrap paper were three words:
FIND YOUR SISTER.
Only one problem...Abby didn’t have a sister. Well, not one she knew of.
Even though Abby doubted the rationality of Walter’s dying words, they continued to haunt her. With no other clues to go on, she had decided to begin her search in Ramblewood, the town of her birth. After she’d driven halfway across the country in one straight shot, she was exhausted.
Abby squinted at the nightstand clock—half the morning was already gone. She forced her road-weary body out of bed, breathing deeply as her feet hit the floor. Fortunately the moving-car sensation that usually followed an extensive road trip had subsided.
Her dog, Duffy, lifted his head as Abby stood. She scratched him behind his ears then padded to the bathroom. The knobs on the freestanding vintage faucet above the claw-foot tub creaked as she turned them. It was well after midnight when she’d arrived and she’d been too tired to summon the strength to take a shower. Abby would be forever grateful that the inn’s owner, Mazie Lawson, had checked her in so late. Abby wouldn’t have been able to handle one more minute cooped up in her car.
Feeling more human after she had bathed and dressed, Abby made her way downstairs with Duffy in tow. She chose an apple-pecan muffin from the basket on the dining room sideboard as her beloved sidekick tugged her in the direction of the front door.
Once outside, they headed for the Ramblewood Bark Park. Located next door to Mazie’s Bed & Biscuit, the animal-friendly play area was an added bonus for guests of the converted Victorian inn, which catered to people traveling with their pets.
Duffy tugged on his leash as they walked through the park’s double gates. Her schnoodle couldn’t wait to run with the other dogs. Some would call her schnauzer and poodle mix a mutt, but Abby referred to him as her designer dog. Once they were securely inside, Duffy sped off to explore his new surroundings.
The pond in the middle of the park enticed panting canines to take a refreshing dip. Some dogs stood belly high, enjoying the coolness of the water—but not Duffy. He didn’t have a particular fondness for anything wet, more like a distinct hatred. He tolerated a bath. Barely. There’d be no convincing him a swim was a good thing.
Abby smiled as she watched Duffy make friends with a cute female Scottish terrier. If dogs could talk, she was pretty sure Duffy approved of this trip.
She sat on a wooden bench under a tree, perusing emails on her phone while her dog played. A slight breeze rustled the maple leaves above her head. The early September air was still heavy with Southern heat. However, the temperature didn’t bother her— One-hundred-degree days weighed down with one-hundred-percent humidity was the norm for summer in Charleston. The air in the South Carolina peninsula between the Ashley and Cooper rivers was thick with moisture most of the year. Ramblewood’s dry weather was a welcome relief. She looked up at the sound of Duffy’s barking. He barreled at her like a bull out of a chute. A black standard poodle was hot on his doggy heels. Duffy darted under Abby’s bench, pivoted and then shot underneath the poodle. The other dog scrambled to keep up.
“Is the little silver bullet yours?” An older woman with closely cropped, curly salt-and-pepper hair asked as she approached. The dogs had reached the other side of the park before Abby could finish nodding.
“Barney won’t hurt him,” the woman said. “He loves to run.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Abby said. “Duffy loves to be chased. I swear he thrives on it.”
“I can see that.” The woman laughed, joining Abby on the bench. “I’m Kay Langtry, by the way.”
“Abby Winchester,” she replied, shaking the woman’s hand. “You have a gorgeous dog.”
“Thank you. He’s quite a handful. Thirteen months and getting into everything. Barney’s new trick is counter surfing, and he’s tall enough to reach even the things I’ve pushed way to the back. I bring him out here to run in a more confined area because he wreaks havoc at the ranch—even the horses keep their distance.”
“I can imagine.” Abby watched Duffy and Barney run along the outskirts of the park. Her dog was fearless when it came to other dogs, but she could see he was keeping a safe distance from the pond. He refused to get his feet wet.
“Are you visiting someone in town?” Kay asked.
“Is it that obvious?” Abby glanced down at her jeans and T-shirt. She had thought her clothes were Texas appropriate when she threw them on earlier. Maybe she should’ve chosen a less bedazzled pair, but all of her jeans were heavily embellished with sequins and rhinestones. Now they seemed like overkill for the laid-back town. “I live in Charleston, South Carolina—originally from Pennsylvania—and I’m here on business. I’m staying next door at the Bed and Biscuit.”
“How long are you in town for?” Kay asked.
“Not sure. A week at least, two at the most.” Abby debated telling the woman her reasons for coming to Ramblewood. What harm would it do? Besides, the more people who knew her story, the more they might be able to help in her search. “I’m looking for my long-lost sister.”
“I love reunion stories.” Kay clasped her hands in her lap. “When did you two last see each other?”
“Never. My biological father recently died and left me a note telling me to find my sister. I didn’t know I had one up until that point. I thought I’d start here since I was born in Ramblewood. I’m banking on someone remembering my parents.”
“What are their names?” Kay asked.
“Walter and Maeve Davidson. They divorced when I was a year old and my mom remarried a year later.”
Kay listened intently. “Your story is better than an episode of General Hospital!” The woman’s eyes widened. “Your parents’ names don’t ring a bell. Have you considered hiring a private investigator?”
“Not really.” Abby didn’t want to admit she’d spontaneously hopped in her car and headed west on a whim. Walter’s note had troubled her more than she’d openly admitted. “I arrived in the middle of the night, and I’m not exactly sure where to start. I thought I’d stop by the courthouse first, but maybe an investigator isn’t such a bad idea, providing it doesn’t cost me a fortune. Do you know of anyone local?”
“It just so happens that I do, and I think you’ll find him to your liking.” A broad smile spread across Kay’s face as she removed a cell phone from her bag. “Clay Tanner. That boy practically grew up in my house alongside my four sons. I guess I shouldn’t call him or any of them boys anymore. But no matter how old they get, I still picture them running around my house laughing and full of mischief. He’s single, to boot.”
“Single, huh?” Abby laughed. “Kay, I’m looking for my sister, not a man.”
“I
