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 nails wouldn’t snag. Nothing dangled to beguile its furry occupants.
Pet guests received a Mazie’s Bed & Biscuit placemat under their elevated food dishes. Amenities included fresh food bowls twice daily, filtered spring water and a dog-walking service, in case a pet owner was out longer than expected. Mazie brought the term creature comforts to an entirely new level, emphasizing the importance of pets to their human counterparts. Abby could use more people like Mazie on the hospital board, then maybe she’d get somewhere.
“I wish I had some answers, Duffy.” Soft snores emanated from the stretched-out form next to her. “Oh, sure, sleep your way through my troubles.”
Abby hated the abrupt way she had left her job the other day, but the combination of her defeat and Walter’s note had gotten the best of her. A break to reevaluate her situation was in order.
Physical therapy was her lifeblood, and she wanted to give her patients every opportunity to improve their lives. She had devoted seven years of school and two years in the field to helping others, and she refused to settle. She just hadn’t found the winning combination to sway the hospital to use pet therapy, but Abby was confident they’d see things her way eventually. Failure was not an option.
She checked the clock. It was an hour later in South Carolina than Ramblewood, but she took the chance her supervisor would still be working. The phone rang twice. “Physical Therapy, Angela speaking.”
“Hello, it’s Abby.” She peeked out the window and admired a couple holding hands as they crossed the street. “How are my patients doing?”
“Hey, girl.” Angela’s voice sounded tired. “They’re good. They keep asking about you, though. You did take off rather suddenly.”
“I know, but it couldn’t be helped. Please tell everyone I’m thinking of them. Has there been any further improvement with Donald Davis?”
“Some,” Angela sighed. “Although he isn’t as cooperative with the other therapists.”
Abby groaned. She felt horrible for abandoning her patients without explanation, but she knew they were in capable hands. Her colleagues were some of the best
