sat on the bed steps, drawing her knees to her chest. She’d been a toddler when her mother had married Steve Winchester, and she had no recollection of the event. The day her brother was born five years later, though, that was another story. She’d never forget that wonderful day. Abby had doted on Wyatt from the beginning. Although, she had always felt like an outsider when she saw him and their parents together. Wyatt was their biological child, and even though Steve had raised her as his own, it still bothered Abby that she’d never know the feeling of belonging the way Wyatt did. There were too many what-ifs surrounding Walter’s note and she was afraid they’d consume her if she didn’t look for the truth.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Angela’s words competed with another voice through the phone. Hearing a muffled sound, Abby suspected that Angela had covered the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, I have to go. You’d better keep me posted.”
“I will.” Abby hung up, climbed onto the bed and lay back on the pillows. She missed her patients, the interaction, the progress they made and the determination that drove them further each day. But she wasn’t about to feel sorry for herself. She’d witnessed far too many of her patients battling horrific injuries and overcoming major obstacles so they could live fully again. Their situations were why Abby refused to allow the phrase self-pity to enter her vocabulary.
She glanced at her snoozing dog. “I think you have the right idea, Duffy.”
Abby closed her eyes, and her thoughts immediately drifted to Clay. Naturally, she had noticed how tall, muscular and downright sexy he was, but more importantly, he held the key to her future. Abby thought back to what Clay had told her at The Magpie. If he found her sister, the woman may not want Abby to know anything about her. Abby’s search would be over without a single answer. That scenario had never crossed her mind. Could she live with that? Abby didn’t think so.
She turned onto her side and ran her hand down Duffy’s back. Maybe Kay did have a point about exploring what Ramblewood had to offer. Abby wouldn’t mind running into the single P.I. tonight. Maybe he’d show her around the town her parents had once called home. Ramblewood was part of her past and she might as well make the best of her trip.
The shrill of her cell phone startled her. The number for CT Investigations splayed across the screen. Had Clay found her sister already?
* * *
AFTER SEARCHING THE courthouse and town hall for information about Abby’s sister—and turning up nothing—Clay headed home. Fortunately, he had managed to wrap up another case, so at least the trip wasn’t a total loss. Placing Abby’s ornate file folder on the counter, he groaned. Why couldn’t he shake her from his mind? He dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped open the folder. Before he could change his mind about calling, Abby answered.
“So soon?” Her voice burst through the earpiece.
“Excuse me?” Clay asked. What did she mean by soon? Did he break one of those female rules that said he had to wait a certain amount of time before calling? They’d had a lunch meeting, not a date. He didn’t think those rules applied here.
“I can’t believe you have something already,” Abby said. “Did you find my sister?”
“Um, no. Nothing yet.” Clay’s jaw clenched, already chastising himself for what he was about to ask. “I wondered if you’d be interested in grabbing a bite to eat. I wanted to discuss your family a little more to see if there’s something you hadn’t thought of before.”
“Sure, that sounds fun.” Clay detected Abby’s enthusiasm over the phone. Was it because he had called, or was she simply bored with Ramblewood’s limited tourist activities? Not that it mattered. Once again, he reminded himself she was a client. Her enthusiasm or lack thereof was of no concern to him. “Where did you have in mind?” she asked.
“Depends what you’re in the mood for. We may not have much to do around here, but our Cooter Creek Restaurant Row draws crowds from clear across the county. There’s Cajun, French, Mexican, German, sushi and steak. Then around Main Street we have Chinese, pizza and your standard burgers and fries fare.”
“I’m absolutely jonesing for some Chinese, if that’s okay with you. It’s my favorite.”
Amused by her expression, Clay didn’t think the phrase “jonesing” came from South Carolina. Must be a part of her northeastern upbringing. “Chinese it is. Six o’clock all right? I’ll pick you up at the Bed and Biscuit.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“I’ll see you then.” Clay hung up the phone and banged his head repeatedly against the kitchen cabinet. “Why did I do that? I had no business calling her. This is a job, she’s a client and I’m an idiot.”
Yet he hadn’t been able to get Abby out of his head since meeting her yesterday. The woman had gotten under his skin and he hadn’t allowed that to happen since Ana Rosa. His fiancée’s face had begun to fade from his dreams lately, and though he tried to hang on to every memory of her, some days they began to blur. The thought of losing her memory terrified him. If only he’d done things differently and told her the truth. There were no second chances, though. Both Ana Rosa and her son were dead. And it was his fault.
Clay grabbed a beer from the fridge and glanced around his old farmhouse. Shane was right, it hadn’t changed much since the day he bought the place. Well, maybe he had opened a box or two when he’d been searching for a particular item. It had been so long since he’d looked inside any of the boxes, he had trouble remembering what he owned.
Clay had entertained thoughts of donating everything to the local thrift shop. And why not? After surviving this many years without the boxes’ contents, he obviously didn’t need whatever was inside. But he knew one of those boxes contained their photos. Reminders of the days they’d spent together, promises he’d made to them of a future and a life free of fear. All of them broken—every single promise—irretrievably broken.
“Dammit!” Clay kicked at the screen door and stormed down the back porch stairs. Heading for the barn, he passed all his clients’ payments, including his newly acquired five-year-old Welsh pony, Olivia. Originally, he had planned to give the mare away, but when his gelding Dream Catcher had met Olivia, it was love at first sight.
At a little under thirteen hands, she was much smaller than his Morgan horse, but their silver-dappled coloring was almost identical. Clay figured the two were meant to be together. Once again, Abby came to mind—she was much shorter than he was.
“Get a grip, Clay.” He led both horses from the corral into the barn. “Abby’s not a pony and I’m sure as hell no gelding.”
Frustrated that he had let the slightest bit of Abby seep into his thoughts, he placed Dream Catcher in his stall. When he returned from feeding the goats, the horse stood in the middle of the barn, ears twitching and tail swishing as if he were about to bolt.
He’d forgotten to latch the door. Allowing Abby to cloud his vision had already complicated his life. His horse could be in danger if Clay couldn’t corral him back into the stall. The last thing he needed was to chase Dream Catcher down the two-lane road that was only a stone’s throw from the barn.
“Are you seriously going to do this to me today?” Clay held his arms wide attempting to make himself appear larger. He was afraid to close the barn doors behind him for fear the horse would turn and run out the other side of the building. If Dream Catcher ran straight for him, Clay
