Hot On His Trail
Kristin Eckhardt
Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work ith their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.LostHer so-called life. Calley Graham's overprotective mother had stood in her way long enough. But all that would change if she could sign on as a rookie investigator for Finders Keepers!FoundOne tough trail boss. Matt Radcliffe was leading a cattle drive out of New Mexico. He sure didn't have time for a pesky investigator who wanted to drag him back to Pinto, Texas. But Calley figured if she volunteered to take over as camp cook, she could keep her job, and maybe keep the cowboy, too!
Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.
Lost
Her so-called life. Calley Graham’s overprotective mother had stood in her way long enough. But all that would change if she could sign on as a rookie investigator for Finders Keepers!
Found
One tough trail boss. Matt Radcliffe was leading a cattle drive out of New Mexico. He sure didn’t have time for a pesky investigator who wanted to drag him back to Pinto, Texas. But Calley figured if she volunteered to take over as camp cook, she could keep her job, and maybe keep the cowboy, too!
Matt pulled back, breaking the kiss before he lost what little control he had left.
“Why did you do that?” he asked in a low voice, sounding more gruff than he’d intended.
“It was your idea,” Calley said softly, her fingers rubbing her cheek.
He could see redness there and knew his beard stubble had made the mark. “Damn it, Calley. All I had in mind was talking.”
She tilted her head as she looked at him, confusion clouding her blue eyes. “Was it so awful?”
Awful? Was she serious? “No. It was just…unexpected.” He wondered how he could explain it to her when even he didn’t understand the riot of emotions churning through him.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said, not looking the least bit sorry to him. “I thought I was helping put your new plan into action.”
“Can you at least give me a little warning next time?”
“Don’t worry, Matt,” she said calmly, turning toward the chuck wagon. “There won’t be a next time.”
He watched her disappear inside the wagon, then heard the loud clank of pots and pans, followed by a muffled oath. Matt smiled. He might have been wrong, but so was she. There would definitely be a next time.
Dear Reader,
I’m a big fan of country music and was inspired to write this story by listening to Trisha Yearwood’s song “I Want To Live Again.” The toe-tapping music and heartfelt lyrics are perfect for my heroine, Calley Graham, who is determined to live life to the fullest. Matt Radcliffe is a sexy cowboy who prefers to live life alone. But Calley is hot on his trail, which means Matt doesn’t stand a chance!
I hope you enjoy Matt and Calley’s story. Happy reading!
Karen Hughes
Hot on His Trail
Karen Hughes
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Cowboy Wants a Baby
Jo Leigh
His Brother’s Fiancée
Jasmine Cresswell
A Father’s Vow
Tina Leonard
Daddy Wanted
Kate Hoffmann
The Cowboy’s Secret Son
Gayle Wilson
The Best Man in Texas
Kelsey Roberts
Hot on His Trail
Karen Hughes
The Sheriff Gets His Lady
Dani Sinclair
Surprise Package
Joanna Wayne
Rodeo Daddy
B.J. Daniels
The Rancher’s Bride
Tara Taylor Quinn
Dylan’s Destiny
Kimberly Raye
Hero for Hire
Jill Shalvis
Her Protector
Liz Ireland
Lover Under Cover
Charlotte Douglas
A Family at Last
Debbi Rawlins
THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY
THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.
The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.
The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.
The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.
None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprece-dented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.
But in one house, there was still hope.
Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.
Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.
Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.
Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.
Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from grow-ing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.
And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their
families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grand-parents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.
Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.
At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.
Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Kristin Eckhardt for her contribution to the TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS series.
For my wonderful mother, Charol Pleiss
Special thanks to Dr. Lisa Bladt for her medical expertise
Contents
Prologue (#u9bc1d4f7-6985-5e2f-a51e-e4ec0379a761)
Chapter One (#uedd90c9d-8506-56df-8231-bd98ce6eb63d)
Chapter Two (#u950f06b0-759f-5f6e-bb30-2928ea7903e5)
Chapter Three (#u5edfcde2-686e-5fe0-9a8e-a7c0a48ae114)
Chapter Four (#ua51315e8-6397-53db-a262-0ebd76f0df38)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
Texas Children’s Hospital
Houston, Texas, 1992
DR. PAULA BENNING, one of Houston’s busiest pediatric cardiologists, stood outside the door of the consultation room, her stomach twisting in dread. She loved every part of her profession—except this one.
A headache throbbed in her left temple, a signal that her blood sugar was low. She knew she should eat something before she broke the news, or at least find a carton of orange juice. But she’d learned early on in her career that delaying unpleasant tasks only made them harder. So she took a deep breath as she reached for the doorknob, then walked inside.
A man and a woman sat on the worn plaid sofa, their faces drawn and their hands clenched together. They looked up at her, guarded hope reflected in their eyes. Dr. Benning glanced hastily at her watch. A signal that she didn’t have time to waste. Get in and get out. In her thirteen years of practice, she’d learned that was the best way to deliver devastating news. Best for her, anyway.
Walt Graham rose to his feet, pulling his wife along with him. “Is Calley all right?”
“She’s in stable condition now,” Dr. Benning confirmed.
“I’ve never been so scared,” Liv Graham confessed, her voice cracking. A petite woman, she looked almost as frail as her daughter. They both had the same wide-set blue eyes and flaxen blond hair. “Calley couldn’t catch her breath and she was so pale. I didn’t know what to do.”
She glanced up at her husband, a detective with the Houston police force. Walt Graham wore his worry in the deep lines etched in his forehead and between his thick, dark brows.
Dr. Benning wished she didn’t know so much about the Grahams. Wished she didn’t know that they’d struggled with infertility for years before they’d finally been blessed with a daughter. Liv Graham, a renowned local photographer, had been past forty when she’d conceived Calley, automatically classifying the pregnancy as high-risk. But she’d delivered a healthy baby girl, then went on to chronicle the first fifteen years of her daughter’s life with incredible black-and-white photographs that had brought Liv recognition throughout the state.
Ironically, one of those photographs of Calley, her golden pigtails flying as she leaped toward the sky, graced a wall in the ICU, where the girl now lay cocooned in a hospital bed, tethered to earth by an IV line and a heart monitor.
Dr. Benning cleared her throat. She’d put off the inevitable long enough. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
Walt Graham ignored her suggestion, his green eyes intent on her face. He stepped forward and curled one large hand around the top of a chair, his knuckles bleached white. “What’s wrong?”
Liv Graham forced a smile, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Nothing’s wrong, Walt. Calley is fine. Right, Dr. Benning?”
“I’m afraid the preliminary tests tell us otherwise.”
The blood drained from Liv’s face. “What do you mean?”
Dr. Benning motioned them toward the sofa. “Please, sit down.”
They obeyed without protest, walking numbly to the sofa. Dr. Benning had seen that same stoic reaction numerous times before. It was the mind’s defense mechanism for dealing with shock. A mechanism that would fade soon enough. She only hoped she’d be gone before it did. Her headache had spread to the other temple and now threatened to turn into one of her rare migraines.
She pulled a chair close to the sofa and sat down, folding her hands together in her lap. “Calley has a condition called myocarditis.”
Liv Graham shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Myocarditis is an inflammation of the heart muscle,” Dr. Benning explained. “It can be caused by a variety of conditions. However, in Calley’s case, we believe it was brought on by a viral infection.”
“An infection?” Walt frowned. “But she hasn’t been sick.”
Liv clasped his arm. “Last month, remember? She had the sniffles. But the pediatrician told us it was hay fever. He put her on antihistamines. Is that why this happened? Should he have given her something else instead?”
Dr. Benning shook her head. “There’s really no way to pinpoint how this occurred. But there was nothing that either you or Calley could have done to prevent it.”
Denial darkened Liz Graham’s blue eyes. “There must be some mistake. Calley’s always been so healthy. She’s had all her immunizations and never missed her yearly checkup.”
“I’m afraid there’s no mistake,” Dr. Benning said softly.
Walt’s jaw tightened. “How long will she be sick?”
Dr. Benning hesitated. “Myocarditis weakens the heart muscle. Some patients recover while others....” She shook her head. “It’s simply too soon to give you a prognosis.”
“Can’t you do something?” Liv asked, looking confused. “Surgery or medication? Surely something can be done to reverse it.”
“She’s receiving ACE inhibitors to improve her heart function, and diuretics to decrease the fluid retention. At this point, we plan to monitor her condition and see if we can get it under control.”
“And if you can’t?” Walt asked.
“Then we’ll have to look at all the available options and select the best one for Calley.”
Liv shook her head. “That’s not good enough. I need to know what’s going to happen to my little girl. She’s only fifteen!”
“In the worst case scenario,” Dr. Benning said gently, “Calley would need a heart transplant.”
Liv Graham gasped and reached for her husband’s hand. Walt sat silently beside her. At last he looked up and asked in a strained voice, “Are you telling us she could die?”
“We’re certainly not at that point yet,” Dr. Benning assured them. She could see the anger and pain now swirling in Liv Graham’s eyes. The numbness was beginning to fade.
Dr. Benning stood up, more than ready to give the Grahams some privacy. “I’ve ordered some more tests. We’ll talk again after the results are in.”
“Thank you, Dr. Benning,” Walt said stiffly. His wife sat mutely beside him.
Dr. Benning nodded, then walked toward the door. As it closed behind her she could hear the first anguished sobs of Calley’s mother.
“I won’t let her go,” Liv cried. “I’ll never, ever let her go.”
CHAPTER ONE
Ten years later
CALLEY GRAHAM paced across the second floor of the Double G ranch house, ignoring the chirp of the cell phone in her purse. She’d arrived early for her job interview at Finders Keepers—two hours early, as a matter of fact. Patience had never been one of her virtues.
It had been three days since she’d seen their advertisement for a temporary private investigator in the classifieds section of the San Antonio Express-News. And it had only taken her about five seconds to decide this was her opportunity to escape. After a little planning, she’d made a furtive call for an interview.
Her first step toward freedom.
Calley had packed her suitcase this morning, leaving San Antonio before sunrise to avoid detection. Then she’d waited at a coffee shop until it was time to make the short drive to Trueblood, Texas. The housekeeper had let her in the front door and directed her to the offices located on the second floor of the sprawling ranch house.
Finders Keepers was run by Dylan Garrett and his twin sister, Lily Garrett Bishop. With a little research, she’d learned that the ranch had apparently been in the Garrett family for generations. After careers in law enforcement, both Dylan and Lily had returned home to start an agency that specialized in finding missing persons.
Calley closed her eyes, mentally reviewing her job pitch. Unfortunately, graduating from a home study course on private investigation didn’t sound very impressive. So she’d padded her résumé with a degree in criminal justice and listed several cases of freelance investigative work. Thankfully, the confidential nature of this business made it impossible for the Garretts to verify her work experience. She wanted this job too much to ruin her chances by telling the truth.
The sound of a plaintive whine made her open her eyes. At her feet sat a full-grown Irish setter, its big brown eyes gazing dolefully up at her. He raised one paw and placed it on her knee.
She laughed and knelt down, stroking the dog’s silky head. “Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured. “What’s your name?”
The setter scooted closer to her, his eyelids drooping as Calley scratched behind his ears.
“I used to have a dog just like you,” she said, a lump forming in the back of her throat as she thought of Trixie, her cuddly cocker spaniel. Trixie had been gone when Calley had returned from the hospital ten years ago. Her mother had sold Calley’s pet, fearing it might carry too many germs. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, refusing to let the pain of the past overwhelm her. She needed to concentrate on her future. With a little luck, it would start today.
“His name is Shiloh,” a voice said behind her.
She stood and turned to see a young woman with chin-length auburn hair and sparkling green eyes.
Calley stroked Shiloh’s head. “He’s a wonderful dog.”
“And ornery,” the woman said, moving behind the wide oak desk. “He steals the pens off my desk and buries them in the south pasture.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a box that made Shiloh trot up to her, his tail wagging furiously behind him.
The woman dropped a dog biscuit into his mouth, then shooed him onto a braided rug near the bookcases along the wall. Brushing her hands together, she turned back to Calley. “I’m Carolyn Mulholland, the office assistant for Finders Keepers. Are you here about a case?”
“Actually, I’m here to interview for the job. My name is Calley Graham.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re early. And I guess I didn’t expect you to be so young.”
“I’m twenty-five,” Calley said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue instead. What if the Garretts held her age against her? Maybe she should have added a couple more years to her already fictitious résumé.
“May I get you a cup of coffee or a soda while you wait?” Carolyn motioned toward the minikitchen area behind her desk. “It may be a while yet.”
“No, I’m fine,” Calley assured her. Then her purse began to chirp again.
Carolyn furrowed her brow. “Is that your phone?”
“Yes.” Calley reached reluctantly inside her purse and pulled out the small cellular.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Carolyn said, misreading Calley’s reticence and walking into one of the inner offices.
With a resigned sigh, Calley opened the flip phone, hesitated a moment, then switched it off. She couldn’t deal with her mother right now. And she definitely couldn’t tell her about the impending job interview. Not when Liv Graham routinely sabotaged Calley’s bids for independence. All for her own good. Or at least, that’s how her mother saw it.
It had started when she’d taken Calley out of high school after the heart condition had been diagnosed, claiming it would be easier and safer to home-school her. Then she’d scared away all of Calley’s friends, warning them that if they inadvertently infected Calley with a cold or the flu, they could kill her.
But it was her mother’s fear that was contagious. It had torn her parents’ marriage apart. Her father was now remarried and living in Florida, leaving Calley alone to deal with her mother’s obsessive love. Liv Graham had been so afraid that her daughter would die that she hadn’t let her live.
Now that was all about to change.
If she could get this job. Calley walked over to the polished wooden rail bordering the second floor, wishing she knew what would impress the Garretts. What would make them believe she was the perfect candidate for the job? She looked out over the great room below, noting the massive stone fireplace and the heavy, exposed beams. It looked as if the house had once been smaller, then expanded to accommodate a growing family.
Was that the answer to her question? Family ties? It made sense, considering Dylan and Lily Garrett had chosen to open a business together and run it out of their old family home. Especially when you considered the focus of the agency—to reunite people with their loved ones.
Family ties. That was the key. Something she could use to her advantage.
Even if she believed some family ties had to be broken.
* * *
“WE HAVE TO find Matt Radcliffe.” Lily Garrett Bishop sat propped up in bed, several eiderdown pillows supporting her. “He’s the last beneficiary in Violet Mitchum’s will.” She watched her brother pace across her bedroom floor. He hadn’t even heard her. Not surprising, considering he’d been strangely preoccupied since Christmas.
“Dylan?”
He stopped and looked up at her. “What’s the matter? Is it the baby?”
She placed one hand protectively over her swollen belly. Only six months pregnant, she’d gone into premature labor a week ago. Fortunately, the doctors had been able to stop it.
Her husband, Cole, had been at his ranch, overseeing its sale to his ranch foreman, Manny Peres. He’d rushed home, the ink still wet on the bill of sale.
Both he and Dylan hovered over her, along with her father. Treating her like a fragile porcelain doll. She’d meekly accepted their coddling at first, terrified that she might lose her baby. But she was feeling much stronger now, and though she had every intention of following the doctor’s orders by staying in bed, that didn’t mean she couldn’t still play an active role in Finders Keepers.
If only her overprotective brother would let her.
“Sit down, Dylan,” she ordered. “You’re making me dizzy.”
He immediately complied, his brow creased with worry. “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want me to call your doctor? Or Cole? He’s at the construction site, going over those changes in your house plans with the builder.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “And so is your niece or nephew.”
Dylan reached out one hand and placed it on her distended belly. A small smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. “He’s kicking up a storm in there.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, shifting a little to assuage the slight ache in her lower back. “Although I don’t understand why you’re so convinced it’s a boy.”
“Because with a kick like that, he’ll make first string placekicker on the Texas A&M football team and give his uncle Dylan free season tickets.”
She laughed. “You’ve never heard of a girl making a college team as a kicker?”
“Sure I have,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I’d be so busy keeping all those besotted football players away from my beautiful niece that I couldn’t enjoy the game.”
Lily smiled as tears pricked her eyes. It felt so good to talk about her baby’s future. To believe that she’d safely carry this precious child for the next three months. She reached down and squeezed her brother’s hand, silently thanking him for his loving support.
A light knock on the door made them both look up. Carolyn stuck her head inside and waved at Lily, then she turned to Dylan. “Sorry to interrupt, but there is a Calley Graham here for an interview.”
Lily’s brow furrowed. “Interview? What interview?”
“Oops,” Carolyn muttered, as Lily struggled to sit up in bed.
“Oh, hell,” Dylan muttered. “I completely forgot about her.” He turned to Carolyn. “Thanks. Tell Miss Graham I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Lily waited until Carolyn shut the door before she turned to her brother. “Okay, Dylan, spill it. What are you up to now?”
He set his jaw. “I’m hiring a temporary investigator for Finders Keepers.”
Lily arched a brow, willing herself not to lose her temper. “When were you planning to tell me?”
“I thought you had enough to worry about.”
“Please don’t shut me out, Dylan. If I have to lie here and do nothing for the next three months, I’ll go completely stir-crazy.”
“Well, you can’t go out on assignment, and we have to find Matt Radcliffe.”
“I think I just said that,” Lily observed ruefully. Matt Radcliffe was a beneficiary in the late Violet Mitchum’s will. Widow of wealthy horse rancher and oilman Charles Mitchum, Violet had lived in a Victorian monstrosity in Pinto, Texas, until her death. Finders Keepers had been retained to find the three outstanding beneficiaries among the eight people named in Violet’s will. They’d successfully located Sara Pierce and Jillian Salvini, but Matt Radcliffe had proven more elusive.
Dylan sat on the edge of her bed. “Actually, we do have a lead. Our little gift to his mother finally paid off.”
Lily sat further up in bed, her interest piqued. “Where is he?”
“Somewhere in New Mexico,” Dylan replied.
“That sounds a little vague.”
“Exactly. That’s why we need someone to go out in the field and track him down. I can’t do it because of—”
“Julie,” Lily finished for him. The wife of Dylan’s best friend, Sebastian Cooper, had disappeared after a car-jacking over a year ago. Her brother’s concern for the missing Julie Cooper had almost turned into an obsession, although lately he didn’t seem as tense about her disappearance as he had been for the last few months. Had he gotten a lead on her? Or just finally given up hope of ever finding her?
Dylan gave a short nod. “I also want to stay close to home in case you need me.”
Lily leaned back against the pillows, feeling useless. But maybe there was something she could do. “Let me interview Calley Graham.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ve already hired someone for the job.”
She blinked. “Then why is this Graham woman here for an interview?”
He raked one hand through his brown hair. “Because I forgot to tell Carolyn to cancel the interview.”
Lily wasn’t surprised, given how distracted her brother had been recently. Which was further proof that he needed Lily’s help. “It’s really not fair to send Calley Graham away now. The least you can do is interview her, or let me do it.”
“Why? I’ve already as much as promised the job to a man named Simms. I still need to conduct a face-to-face interview with him, but that’s just a formality. He’s a retired cop with a résumé a mile long.”
“We could send them both out into the field,” Lily suggested. “Double our chances of finding Matt Radcliffe.”
Dylan stood up. “That means we’ll have to pay twice as much, too.”
She smiled as another idea occurred to her. “Not if we make it a contest. The first one to find Matt Radcliffe and bring him back to Texas wins the job. We’d pay expenses, of course, but no salary until the winner is hired.”
Dylan stared at her for a long moment, then grinned. “I see pregnancy hasn’t affected your brain cells. You’re still as devious as ever.”
She laughed. “I believe the word you’re looking for is creative.”
“So what happens if this Graham woman and Simms both decline our not-so-generous offer?”
She arched a brow. “Would you?”
“Not a chance. I never back down from a challenge.”
“Neither would I,” Lily affirmed. “We want someone with guts and tenacity to work for Finders Keepers. Someone who won’t give up when he, or she, runs out of leads.” She settled back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh. “The more I think about this idea, the more I like it.”
“Me, too,” Dylan agreed. “Once we find Radcliffe, I can finally make arrangements for Violet’s memorial service.”
“Then let’s stop wasting time,” Lily replied. “Send Calley Graham in here. Let’s find out how much she really wants this job.”
* * *
DYLAN SENT Calley Graham to Lily’s room, then shut himself in his office. Now that the matter of finding Radcliffe was being handled, he could concentrate on gathering evidence against his best friend.
His gaze drifted to one of the framed photographs on his wall. Taken when they were all in college, it showed him and Sebastian Cooper laughing together, their arms draped around Julie, who stood between them. Despite their lengthy friendship, Julie had always stood between them. Dylan had fallen in love with her when he was a junior at Texas A&M, but it was Sebastian she’d chosen to marry.
He’d truly wanted Sebastian and Julie to be happy together. Had grieved with Sebastian when Julie had gone missing after an apparent car-jacking last year.
And had been stunned when he’d finally discovered the truth.
Julie had run away, in fear for her life and that of her unborn child. Dylan had finally tracked her down in the tiny town of Cactus Creek, Texas. She’d given birth to a son in September. A boy she’d named Thomas. But that wasn’t the biggest surprise. She’d told Dylan that Sebastian had ties to the mob. All she lacked was the evidence to prove it.
So Dylan had vowed to find the evidence, even though some part of him still didn’t want to believe that Sebastian could be capable of that kind of duplicity. But there was only one way to find out.
He flipped through the Rolodex on his desk, searching for the number of Zach Logan, who had been his chief in the Dallas Police Department. If anyone would be keeping tabs on the local organized crime ring, it would be Zach. Especially since he’d been instrumental in sending its leader, J. B. Crowe, to prison last spring.
Dylan picked up the telephone.
* * *
CALLEY WAS SURPRISED to find herself directed to Lily Bishop’s spacious bedroom rather than Dylan Garrett’s office. She had prepared herself to face a man for this job interview, not the thoughtful, intuitive young woman who studied her now.
Lily’s jet-black hair contrasted sharply against the snow-white pillow cases. Despite the fact that she was confined to bed, Lily looked nothing like an invalid. She flipped quickly through the pages of Calley’s résumé, her mouth pursed in concentration.
“Your résumé is a little thin,” Lily said at last.
“What I lack in experience, I make up for in creativity,” Calley replied. She’d planned to sugarcoat her answers to Dylan Garrett, but she instinctively knew such a strategy wouldn’t work with his sister.
Lily laid the résumé on her lap. “That’s good to hear, because at the moment we’re working on a tough case. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.”
Calley gratefully took a chair next to the bed, her knees feeling a little shaky. She wanted this job so badly. Needed it, if she was ever to venture out on her own.
“The man we’re searching for is Matthew Radcliffe. He’s a beneficiary in Violet Mitchum’s will. Along with a monetary gift, he’s to receive one of Violet’s rings and a sealed letter from her.” Lily handed Calley an old photo. “He was twelve when this picture was taken. That’s also the age he was the last time Violet saw him.”
Calley studied the photo of a tall, lanky boy riding bareback on a dappled horse. His cowboy hat shaded his face, but she could see the proud set of his thin shoulders and the confident way he held the reins.
“Matt’s mother was the Mitchums’ housekeeper,” Lily continued. “He was born and raised on the Mitchum ranch. At least until the fire.”
“Fire?” Calley asked, her gaze still on the photo. She wished she could see his face.
“The Mitchums lived in a Victorian house just outside of Pinto that Charles Mitchum built for his wife in the fifties. There was a fire twenty years ago that destroyed a large part of the structure. It was after this fire that Matt and his mother, Rita, disappeared.”
“What about his father?” Calley asked.
“Todd Radcliffe ran out on his family when Matt was eight years old.”
Calley looked up from the photo. “I assume you’ve already contacted Matt’s mother?”
Lily nodded. “Apparently, she and her son are not close. When we first spoke with Rita in November she had no idea where to find Matt. Although she did tell us that he calls her on Christmas.”
Calley glanced up. “That was two weeks ago.”
Lily smiled. “We gave Rita a small gift for her cooperation. A new cordless phone with—”
“Caller ID,” Calley concluded, feeling the first tingles of excitement.
“That’s right. My brother just told me she contacted Finders Keepers a few days ago.” Lily reached into a thin file folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is the telephone number Rita wrote down after her son called.”
Calley looked at the area code. “505. That’s New Mexico, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Dylan traced the phone number to a roadstop café outside of White Rock, New Mexico. It’s a small town just north of Santa Fe. He contacted the owner of the café. Apparently, no one there knows Matt Radcliffe.”
“Which means we can assume he was just passing through.”
Lily nodded. “That’s all we have to go on. We don’t even have a description, since Rita hasn’t seen her son in years.”
Calley looked at the old photo once again. “He’ll be tall and have dark hair.”
“Rita did tell us that her son has dark brown eyes,” Lily added, handing the file to Calley. “And that he loves horses.”
As Calley glanced at the manila file folder in her hand, then at Lily, her heart began beating double time. “Does this mean I have the job?”
“Well, you might want to hear the conditions first.”
Calley placed the photo of Matt Radcliffe inside the folder, hoping Lily couldn’t see the way her hand was shaking. She didn’t give a fig about any conditions. She’d walk all the way to New Mexico if necessary.
“You won’t be the only one looking for Radcliffe,” Lily continued. “There is another man interested in this position. He’ll be on the case, too. Whoever is the first one to bring Radcliffe back here wins the job.”
Calley stood up. “Then I’d better get started.”
Lily looked up at her. “So you’re still interested?”
“Definitely,” Calley said, her blood racing at the thrill of competition. It had been too long since she’d felt that thrill. Much too long.
“Oh, one more thing,” Lily added, as Calley headed for the door.
She turned. “Yes?”
“You left a blank space on your application.” Lily held it up. “Do you have anyone we can contact, such as a family member, in case of an emergency?”
“No,” Calley said, wishing the lie wasn’t necessary. “I don’t have anyone.”
CHAPTER TWO
MATT RADCLIFFE stood at the corral as the sun set on the horizon, the last golden rays caressing the sparse grass and sagebrush growing along the fence. He propped one boot up on a metal rail and watched the herd of one hundred longhorn steers paw up a cloud of fine dust inside the large enclosure.
He tried to ignore the spark of excitement in his belly. But it smoldered there, refusing to be doused by good common sense. At sunup, he would embark on a fool’s errand, dreamed up by Rufus Tupper, New Mexico’s richest resident fool. A gentleman rancher, Rufus had never raised so much as a blister. He left that to the real cowboys, like Matt. Men who loved the land but couldn’t afford to buy a ranch of their own.
That was all about to change.
“Hey, cowboy.”
Matt turned to see Marla Mackovic walking up to the corral. She was a former Las Vegas showgirl who had hoped to cash in on Tupper’s wealth when he’d asked her to come live at the ranch. Instead, she spent most of her time dusting his horse trophies and preparing his hangover tonics.
“I missed you at supper,” she said, ambling over to him, her hands behind her back. Her overpermed hair hung like a black cloud down her back. He’d always liked Marla, even if she did wear too much makeup and perfume. But he didn’t like the calculating gleam he saw in her eyes this evening.
“I had a few last-minute preparations to make.”
“I brought you a piece of cherry pie.” She took a step forward and placed the napkin-wrapped pastry into his hand. Warm, red filling oozed out and ran over his thumb.
“Thank you,” he said, sucking the sweet filling off his knuckle. Not wanting to disappoint her, he ate the pie in three bites, though it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He had too much at stake today to care about food.
“Rufus wants to see you before you go,” she told him, her long yellow broom skirt swaying softly in the warm breeze.
“Then he’d better get his butt out here,” Matt said, licking the last crumbs off his fingertips.
“He wants you to come inside. Rufus is in one of his moods. I made him a bloody Mary a little while ago and he threw it against the wall. Said the tomato juice had too much pulp in it.”
Matt stared at her for a long moment. “Why do you stay here, Marla? You can do better than this.”
She arched one waxed eyebrow. “Why do you?”
His jaw tightened. “I’m leaving tomorrow. And I’m not coming back.”
“Take me with you,” she cried, reaching out to grasp his forearm. “I can cook for you and the cowhands. Wash your clothes. Sing and dance. Anything you want.”
Matt smiled. “You wouldn’t like it out on the trail, Marla. There aren’t any televisions or stereos or refrigerators. No indoor plumbing.” He reached for the hand still clutching his arm, and gently patted her thin fingers. “And no beauty salons to keep up this pretty manicure, either.”
She pulled her hand out of his grasp, curling it into a fist to hide the long, polished red nails. “I don’t need manicures, Matt. Or any of those other things. I just need…you.”
He swallowed a sigh. Marla didn’t need him and she sure didn’t love him. She just wanted someone to take care of her. She’d been looking for that someone ever since she’d run away from home at seventeen. Young and pretty and temperamental, she’d wasted the last two years of her life to be at Tupper’s beck and call. Obviously, she’d finally realized that she’d never find her way into the eccentric rancher’s heart.
“I’m too old for you, Marla,” he said gently.
“You’re not as old as Rufus. He’s almost fifty.” She tossed her long black curls over her shoulder. “And you’re only thirty-two.”
“And you’re barely twenty. You should be out having fun. Not traipsing around on a dusty trail with a bunch of cowboys.”
“Anything is better than here,” she muttered, then sidled closer to him, placing her small hands on his chest. “Besides, I like you, Matt. I’ve always liked you.” Her soulful brown eyes gazed up at him. “You’re so big and strong.”
Her hands slid up around his shoulders and smoothed over the biceps outlined by his chambray shirt. He inhaled the stale aroma of her heavy perfume and saw the mascara smudges beneath her eyes.
“And so brave,” Marla whispered seductively. “None of the other cowboys stand up to Rufus like you do.”
Her soft, voluptuous curves pressed against him, and for one brief moment Matt considered her request. It had been much too long since he’d held a woman in his arms. Maybe she could assuage the loneliness that seemed to seep into his bones during the long nights on the range.
His silence encouraged her to snake her arms around his neck and press her face into the crook of his shoulder.
“Please take me with you,” she entreated in the singsong voice of a little girl. “Please, Matt.”
He gently disengaged himself from her, then took a step back. “Sorry, Marla. I always travel solo.”
She shrugged, a petulant pout on her lips. “Fine. Then I’ll ask Boyd to take me with him.”
Matt bit back a smile at the thought of Tupper’s hapless nephew. “Where is Boyd going?”
“With you on the cattle drive,” she retorted. “I heard Tupper tell Boyd it would make a man out of him.”
“Hell,” Matt muttered under his breath. This drive was going to be complicated enough without dragging along a spoiled city boy. “Don’t waste your time sweet-talking Boyd, Marla. I’m the boss out on the trail and I’m not allowing any distractions on this trip. It’s too important.”
“Fine.” Anger flared in her brown eyes. “I hope all the cattle stampede and fall off a cliff! I hope your precious horse kicks you in the head! I hope you get lost in the desert and your cojones dry up and fall off.”
“Gracious as always, I see,” he said, smiling as he reached into his pocket for the keys to his pickup truck. He tossed them to her. “You can still leave, Marla. Anytime you want. My truck has seen a lot of miles, but it’s dependable. It will take you anywhere you want to go.”
“I just want you to go to hell,” she cried, throwing the keys back at his feet. Then she spun around and ran toward the barn.
Matt stared at the keys for a moment, then turned and walked away. Marla might change her mind when her temper cooled off. Or she might decide to mow Rufus down. Either way, he wanted to help her out. She was a sweet kid when she wasn’t contemplating destruction of certain portions of his anatomy.
With Marla’s curse still ringing in his ears, Matt walked to the ranch house. Heat lightning flashed across the sky.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Matt looked up to see Rufus Tupper standing on the front porch. He wore a paisley silk robe and a pair of ostrich skin cowboy boots.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Hell, yes,” Rufus grumbled. “You can’t leave without a proper send-off. And I’m sure as hell not gettin’ out of bed before sunrise. Meet me in my study.” He turned around without another word and ambled back into the house.
By the time Matt reached Rufus’s study, the rancher had poured two whiskeys.
“A toast,” Rufus said, handing one of the tumblers to Matt. Then he raised his own glass in the air. “To the best trail boss west of the Mississippi.”
Matt took a sip of the whiskey. It burned its way into his stomach and made him feel slightly queasy. But then, so did Rufus Tupper.
Matt set down his glass. “What do you want?”
“Hell, Radcliffe,” Rufus said, pouring himself another whiskey. “You always this suspicious?”
“It comes with the job. I’ve got to be on the lookout for rattlesnakes, coyotes and other predators.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rufus settled into his chair. “I just want to make sure that everything is all set. I’ve got a lot of money riding on this bet with Lester Hobbs. In fact, we’ve decided to up the ante.”
Matt felt himself tense. Rufus and Lester were rich men with too much time and money on their hands. One whiskey-soaked night they’d reminisced about the good old days when a man could prove his mettle by driving cattle to market. Nowadays, most cattle were transported via semitrailer truck. Cattle drives were either short jaunts from one pasture to the next, or part of a tourist package for bored city slickers who wanted to play cowboy for a week.
Rufus and Lester decided to take a trip down memory lane by recreating an old-fashioned cattle drive on the Goodnight-Loving Trail, which had run west from Central Texas to Fort Sumner, New Mexico, well over a hundred years ago. Tupper had just laughed when Matt pointed out that the drive they had routed was headed in the wrong direction, running east instead of west.
“Up the ante?” Matt echoed. “You mean you’ve decided to make my job even harder?”
Rufus chuckled. “Hey, if you want to win that half a million dollars, you’ve gotta earn it. Or have you changed your mind?”
Matt folded his arms across his chest. “Are you going to tell me the new terms of the bet or are you just going to keep wasting my time?”
Rufus swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Basically the same as before. Lester and I each send one hundred longhorn steers on a cattle drive from here to my ranch near Jacksboro, Texas. First one to pass over the property line at the Lazy R wins the race.”
“And?” Matt prompted.
“And we’ve set the death loss at five percent. Which means if more than five steers die on the trail, the bet is forfeited. It would be too easy to win by cutting down the herd.”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I don’t shoot cattle just to make my job easier.”
Rufus slowly sipped his whiskey. “Actually, I’ve heard so many good things about you I’m starting to wonder if you hired a publicity agent. You’ve got a reputation as the best long-distance trail boss in the country. Even better than Rich Weaver, who Lester hired to lead his drive. Now let’s see if you live up to it.”
Matt knew people spoke highly of him, marveling at his dedication to his work. They never seemed to realize that he didn’t have anything else.
But that was all about to change.
“I want a check for five hundred thousand dollars waiting for me at the bank in Jacksboro.”
Rufus pulled open his top desk drawer. “That reminds me. I had a contract drawn up so we do everything legal. That damn IRS is always breathing down my neck.”
Matt picked up the contract, leafing through the pages. Despite the legalese, he could see it clearly spelled out that Rufus would pay him the amount they’d agreed upon if Matt and his crew were the first ones across the finish line.
“Do you have a pen?”
Rufus fumbled in his drawer, then handed him one. “So when do you expect to hit Jacksboro?”
“I’m hoping to travel ten to fifteen miles a day, depending on the weather.” Matt scribbled his signature across the bottom of the contract, right below Tupper’s messy scrawl. “We’ll drive the cattle hard for five days at a time, then graze for two. With a little luck, we should arrive at the Lazy R about a month from now. Probably mid-February.”
Rufus scowled. “You’d get there a lot faster if you didn’t stop to graze.”
“Three hundred miles is a long way to go. Your steers would be nothing but skin and bones by the time we got to Jacksboro. If they made it that far.”
“I don’t give a damn about that.” Rufus scowled. “I just don’t want to lose.”
Matt slid the contract back across the desk. “I don’t intend to lose.”
“Good.” Rufus settled back in his chair. “Although I should warn you that Lester cheats at cards. No reason to believe he won’t find a way to cheat on the trail, too.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.”
The rancher smirked. “’Course, I wouldn’t mind if you caused Lester’s cowboys a little trouble along the way. I even put a few ideas in Boyd’s head that should add some fun to the trip. Did I mention he’s going along?”
“So I heard.” Matt stood up, planting both palms on the polished surface of Tupper’s desk. “But let’s get one thing straight. I don’t cheat. And any man on my crew who decides to implement one of your plans will find himself walking barefoot back to Fort Sumner.”
Rufus chuckled. “That’s the difference between us, Radcliffe. You’re honest and poor. I’m dishonest and rich. It’s time you wise up, son, before you lose both the bet and the nice fat check that’s already got your name on it.”
Matt had never been so tempted to walk away. Leave behind Rufus and his frivolous bet. Finding work had never been a problem before. Finding someone willing to pay him half a million dollars was another story. Especially since he was only three hundred miles away from making his dream come true.
A ranch of his very own.
He’d dreamed of it ever since he was fifteen years old, lying under the stars on his first cattle drive. Some cowboys liked the nomad life, but Matt needed roots to feel whole. Roots that had been ripped away when he was twelve years old and never replanted.
Now he was so close to his dream, he couldn’t resist the offer Rufus dangled before him. Hell, why should he resist it? Rufus wouldn’t miss the money. It was a stupid, meaningless bet, but if Matt didn’t take the job, Rufus would find someone else to do it.
“Don’t worry,” Matt said, moving toward the door. “I’ll win your bet. And I don’t intend to let Lester Hobbs or anyone else stop me.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT MORNING, Matt led his bay gelding, Jericho, out of the stable, then mounted his horse and joined his crew by the corral. He’d carefully selected them, wranglers he’d known for years whom he could trust to work hard and keep the cattle moving. He looked at them now in the predawn shadows and knew he’d chosen the best.
Cliff Donovan was his oldest friend and a cowboy with a wry sense of humor. But Cliff took his job seriously, especially now that he had a growing family to support. He was not only book smart, but cow smart, and knew how to keep a large herd under control.
Davis and Deb Gunn were a husband and wife team who could ride and rope with the best of them. They were saving money to start a dude ranch on the Wind River Range in Wyoming, where Deb had grown up. She was one of the few women he knew who looked more comfortable in a saddle than in a dress.
Arnie Schott was pushing sixty and fighting arthritis in his knees, but he still loved riding the range. The old cowboy also had good instincts when it came to river crossings and rounding up strays. He had more years of experience driving cattle than the rest of them combined.
Bud Lanigan rounded out the crew. Matt had talked him out of retirement to drive the chuck wagon and prepare the meals. Bud had grumbled about the long days ahead, but Matt could see his excitement in the avid attention he paid to the smallest details of the journey. He might not be the best cook in the country, but he’d keep them well fed over the next few weeks.
Then there was Boyd.
Matt had dragged the wiry nineteen-year-old out of bed this morning and he still looked half-asleep on top of his horse. Despite the addition of an extra hand on the drive, Matt sensed the kid would be more of a hindrance than a help.
“You awake, Tupper?” he called out.
Boyd opened his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Time to get moving.” Then his gaze scanned the rest of the crew. “We’ve got three hundred rough miles ahead of us, but the forecast looks clear today. We’ll be following the Pecos River south for the first leg of the trip. I’ve already gotten permission from all the landowners along the route, so we shouldn’t have to worry about trespassing problems. When we reach Portales in a few days, one of us will ride into town and fetch the veterinarian. He’ll check out the herd so we can cross the state line into Texas. Any questions?”
Boyd emitted a loud yawn. “I’ve got a question. When’s breakfast?”
“You missed it,” Matt replied briskly.
Bud held up a brown paper sack. “I’ve bagged peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch if you want to eat early.”
The teenager wrinkled his nose. “I hate peanut butter.”
Matt swore under his breath. They hadn’t even gone a mile yet, and the kid was already complaining. “Nobody here will stop you from going back to bed.”
Boyd scowled, but to Matt’s disappointment didn’t make a move toward the bunkhouse.
The herd of one hundred Texas longhorns penned inside the corral lowed in restless anticipation, as if they sensed today was no ordinary day.
Matt looked over at Cliff, who had rounded up the lead steers and moved them to the gate. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Cliff replied, then called over to Bud, who was seated on the buckboard of the chuck wagon. “Hey, save Boyd’s sandwich for me. I love peanut butter.”
At Matt’s signal, Davis hopped off his horse and unhitched the latch. The gate swung open wide and the steers began to lumber out of the corral.
Matt raised one hand in the air, then swung it forward. “Let’s ride out.”
Then he took the first step toward his dream.
* * *
CALLEY STOOD in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Her only lead was the phone call from White Rock. Now she just had to hope Radcliffe lived somewhere in the area, or had left a paper trail she could follow. Not that she could even be sure he was still in New Mexico. Or that he’d obtained his driver’s license in this state. But she had to start somewhere.
At last she moved to the front of the line. “I’d like to know if you have any records for a Matthew C. Radcliffe. His last name is spelled R-A-D—”
“I have it,” the clerk interjected, pulling a file folder out of a wire basket. “Must be a popular guy. Another man was in here just an hour ago asking for the same information.”
Her heart lurched. Simms. Carolyn Mulholland had told her the name of her rival. Somehow he’d gotten a step ahead of her. She inwardly chastised herself for taking time to walk her daily five miles on the treadmill in the motel’s exercise room this morning. It had cost her precious time she couldn’t afford, but old habits were hard to break.
Her cardiologist had stressed the importance of exercise from the first day of her diagnosis, ranking it only second to faithfully taking her medication. Which reminded her of another problem. She only had a few pills left in the bottle. Once she tracked down Matt Radcliffe, she’d have to find a pharmacy to refill her prescription. Something her mother had taken care of for as long as she could remember.
“Next,” the clerk called out, breaking into Calley’s thoughts. She shifted over to one side and opened the folder. Inside was a copy of Matt Radcliffe’s driver’s license. Her breath hitched when she saw his picture. She’d never been particularly attracted to cowboys before, but this particular cowboy could make any woman’s heart beat faster. Her heart was skittering so fast in her chest, she feared it might be due to more than simple animal attraction.
Calley took a few deep breaths, then found an empty chair. She relaxed as her heart resumed its normal pace, then she took a closer look at her prey.
He had short, jet-black hair that looked like it would curl at the ends if he ever let it grow past his shirt collar. His tan complexion gave witness to long hours spent in the sun. The combination of a solid, square chin, chiseled jaw, and well-defined cheekbones made him the perfect candidate to model in GQ magazine. But the slight crook in his aquiline nose told her he’d probably punch any man who would suggest such an occupation.
But it was his eyes that really fascinated her.
Deep, dark-brown eyes, like chocolate melted under the warm sun. They pierced right through her and made her shift restlessly in her chair. Eyes that held his secrets and seemed to hold the power to discover hers, as well.
Not that she’d ever give him the opportunity.
Still, if he could look this good in a driver’s license photograph, she didn’t want to think about the effect he might have in person.
She tore her gaze from his picture and studied the statistical data. Matt Radcliffe was thirty-two years old, according to the date of birth recorded on the license. He was six feet tall and two hundred pounds, and judging by his photograph, all of it muscle. The faded chambray shirt he wore stretched taut across his broad shoulders.
Calley pulled a notepad out of her bag and jotted down the address listed on his license, 5521 Alameda Street. She handed the file back to the clerk, then hurried out the door toward her car. Finally she had a solid lead. But then, so did Bill Simms. No doubt he was well on his way to finding Matt Radcliffe while she’d been wasting time drooling over his picture.
Thirty minutes later, she was knocking on the door of 5521 Alameda Street, hoping against hope that Simms hadn’t already been here. Or worse, that he and Radcliffe hadn’t already left for Texas.
At last the door opened and a little girl with brown eyes blinked up at her. “Hello.”
“Hi there.” Calley knelt down so she would be at the little girl’s eye level. The child looked to be about four or five years old, with red hair cut in a pixie style. “What’s your name?”
“Bianca.”
“Hello, Bianca. My name is Calley.”
“You’re pretty,” Bianca said.
Calley smiled. “Thank you. You’re very pretty, too.” She wondered if this was Matt Radcliffe’s child. “Is your daddy here?”
Bianca shook her head. “He’s working.”
“Is your name Bianca Radcliffe?” Calley asked, not able to contain her curiosity any longer.
“I’m not allowed to tell my name to strangers,” Bianca replied very solemnly.
“That’s right,” Calley said reassuringly. “You’re a very smart little girl, Bianca.”
The child nodded. “I didn’t tell the other man my name either.”
Calley had no doubt that the other man was Bill Simms, which meant he was still one step ahead of her.
A moment later, a young blond woman, obviously pregnant, appeared at the door. “Can I help you?”
Calley straightened. “Hello, my name is Calley Graham. I’m looking for Matt Radcliffe.”
“He’s not here,” the woman said, her expression slightly guarded.
“But he does live here?”
The woman hesitated, her hand on the door as if she might slam it shut at any moment. “Why are you looking for Matt?”
“It’s…something I’m not really at liberty to discuss.”
“There was a man here an hour ago looking for him, too. I don’t give out personal information to strangers.”
“Actually, I’m a private detective.” Calley experienced an unexpected thrill at saying those words aloud. “I’ve been hired to find Mr. Radcliffe.”
Bianca looked up at her mother. “Is Uncle Matt lost?”
Uncle Matt. If the little girl called him that, chances were good that he wasn’t her father, although he could still be responsible for the child the woman was carrying. Calley briefly wondered why it mattered to her.
“No, honey,” the woman said to Bianca. “He’s not lost.” Then she lifted her gaze back to Calley. “Matt’s been good to us. I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”
Instinctively, Calley knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with this woman unless she told her the truth. “The reason I’m looking for Mr. Radcliffe is because he’s a beneficiary in a will. The sooner I find him, the sooner he can claim his inheritance.”
“Oh, well that’s different,” the woman said with a small smile of relief. “Matt’s out on a drive.”
So he did live here. Calley ignored the twinge of disappointment deep inside her. “Do you mind if I wait here until he returns?”
The woman laughed. “No, I mean he’s out on a cattle drive. He’ll be gone for at least a month. Maybe even longer.” She placed a hand on her swollen belly. “Hopefully, it will be over before I have to make a trip to the maternity ward.”
“Is there any way you can contact him?” Calley asked.
“No. Although I might be able to reach my husband.”
“Your husband?” Calley echoed, thoroughly confused. “Isn’t Matt your husband?”
The woman laughed. “No. Matt’s terminally single. Cliff Donovan is my husband. He works for Matt, although they’re more like brothers than boss and employee. Matt was the best man at our wedding. He sublet his place to us a year ago. But he still uses it as his official address for mail and stuff.”
A sizzle of excitement shot through Calley’s veins. So Matt Radcliffe wasn’t responsible for this woman’s child. Her determination to find him became stronger than ever. “Tell me about this cattle drive.”
* * *
MATT KNEW it was a bad sign when his horse threw a shoe before they even made it past the boundaries of the Tupper ranch. Not that he believed in all the old cowboy superstitions. But he did have a healthy respect for omens, and this one made him uneasy. Especially on the heels of Marla’s curse.
At least he knew better than to relay his misgivings to the crew. Except Cliff, who had questioned the wisdom of working for a man like Tupper. In fact, Cliff had been the last one to sign on, reluctant to leave his pregnant wife and his tiny heartbreaker of a daughter. Matt regretted taking the man away from his family, but he also knew how much the Donovans could use the money. In the end, he’d left the choice up to Cliff, who had wrangled over the decision before finally agreeing to join the drive.
Fortunately, Arnie was a farrier who’d spent many years shoeing horses on the range, so the delay hadn’t cost too much time. Matt easily caught up with the herd, which was moving well along the stretch of grass that paralleled Highway 20.
Bringing up the rear was Bud, driving the chuck wagon. Two extra horses were tied to the back of the wagon in case one of the working horses turned up lame. The terms of the bet made it clear that this was to be an authentic, old-fashioned cattle drive. No motor vehicles, no cellular phones or any other modern conveniences of the twentieth century. The only exception to that rule was allowing them to stock up on supplies at towns along the route.
Each cowboy carried a bedroll on the back of his saddle. Their saddlebags contained rain gear, extra clothes and personal toiletries. Pup tents were packed in the chuck wagon in case of inclement weather, along with a first-aid kit, matches, blankets, towels, soap and plenty of nonperishable food and other supplies.
Five hours after leaving the Tupper ranch near Fort Sumner, they reached the first watering hole—a small cove branching off the Pecos River. The cattle moved eagerly toward the water, some walking right into it up to their bellies.
Matt took off his cowboy hat and wiped his damp brow with his bandanna. It was going to be hot again today, which meant he’d have to slow down the drive so he didn’t lose any cattle to the heat.
He looked up to see Arnie hailing him. Reining his horse around, Matt rode over to him.
“We’ve got a problem,” Arnie said without preamble.
“What now?” Matt asked, dread churning in his stomach. “Stray cattle? A lame horse?”
“Worse,” Arnie replied. “A woman.”
CHAPTER FOUR
CALLEY COULDN’T believe her good luck. She’d found him. After following Katie Donovan’s directions to the Tupper ranch outside of Fort Sumner, she’d simply followed the trail of cow pies until she’d caught up with the cattle drive. Not exactly the latest in high-tech tracking techniques, but it had worked.
As she slowly approached the herd in her old ‘82 Cadillac, she saw four men on horses turn to stare at her. Not wanting to spook either the cattle or the cowboys, she stopped her car and got out to walk the rest of the way.
A man on horseback met her halfway. Her breathing hitched when she recognized him as Matt Radcliffe. Those dark eyes were even more powerful in person than they had been in his driver’s license photo.
He climbed down from his horse and walked toward her, a fantasy in faded blue denim. His square jaw was shaded with dark whiskers and his mouth was set in a firm line. When he finally reached her, he took off his cowboy hat. A gesture she found endearingly old-fashioned.
“Are you lost, ma’am?” His deep voice slid over her like smooth whiskey.
She swallowed. “Not if you’re Matt Radcliffe.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I am.”
She smiled. “Then today is your lucky day. My name is Calley Graham and I’m a private inves-tigator with Finders Keepers out of Trueblood, Texas. You’ve been named as a beneficiary in Violet Mitchum’s will.”
Something flickered in his deep-brown eyes. Surprise? Pleasure? Pain? Calley couldn’t begin to fathom the emotions swirling in those chocolate depths.
At last he said, “I think there must be some mistake.”
She heard the edge in his tone but barreled ahead anyway. “I assure you there’s no mistake. You’re to receive one of Violet’s rings and a letter she wrote to you shortly before her death.”
“I’m not interested in anything Violet Mitchum had to say,” he said brusquely. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
Her jaw dropped as he turned around and headed back toward his horse. The man was walking away from a bequest. Possibly a very generous bequest, considering the size of the Mitchum estate.
“Wait a minute,” Calley called, hurrying after him. “I don’t think you understand.”
Matt had already mounted his horse, his cowboy hat now shading his eyes from her. “I understand perfectly, Miss Graham. It is Miss, isn’t it?”
Calley nodded. “Yes. I’ve never been married.” She wanted to kick herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. He didn’t care about her personal life, he just wanted to know how to address her. At least she’d refrained from divulging the fact that she had only dated three men in her entire life.
And that she was still a virgin.
“Well, Miss Graham, I’m in the middle of a cattle drive at the moment. But even if I was free to take a trip to Pinto, I have absolutely no desire to go there. Or to take anything from the Mitchums.”
“But what about your inheritance? It could be worth a considerable amount of money.”
He hesitated for only a moment. “You can give my inheritance to a local charity or to the dog pound for all I care.” He tipped his hat to her. “Good day, Miss Graham.”
He rode off toward the herd, leaving her staring after him. She’d successfully tracked the man down, only to have him balk at the easy part of the job—bringing him back to Texas. Calley considered her options. She could return to Finders Keepers and inform Dylan and Lily that she’d failed. Or she could keep trying to convince Matt Radcliffe to change his mind.
It was the easiest decision she’d made in a very long time.
* * *
“THAT WOMAN IS still following us,” Arnie said, riding up beside Matt.
He turned around to see Calley Graham’s beat-up yellow Cadillac bouncing in the distance, easily visible by the plume of dust it left in its wake. At least she had the good sense to stay far enough behind them to keep from spooking the herd. Still, it was one more irritation in a day filled with irritations. They hadn’t even come close to reaching their daily mile quota. At this rate, he’d never make it to the Lazy R in four weeks.
With a muttered curse, Matt spurred his horse forward. “Ignore her,” he called back to Arnie. “She’ll get bored before too long and go away.”
Four hours later, Matt was still waiting for Calley to disappear. It surprised him that a woman with her delicate beauty had such tenacity. Just as it had surprised him when she’d announced her occupation. A model or a ballerina he could have believed. But a private investigator? Somehow it just didn’t fit.
Just like Violet Mitchum naming him in her will didn’t fit. He feared it was more out of spite than generosity. Especially when he considered his bequest. One of Violet’s rings. He knew exactly what ring it was, and how little she’d valued it.
His mind drifted back to a day twenty-two years ago, when he’d found Violet weeping after her neighbor had stopped by to show off her new mother’s ring. Violet and Charles had been unable to have children of their own, and that neighbor’s visit had been like vinegar poured on an open wound. So Matt, just ten years old, had hurried up to his bedroom and retrieved his latest prize from a gumball machine: a cheap, adjustable ring with shiny fake gems glued on top. He’d solemnly presented it to Violet, telling her she could pretend to be his mother. And she’d worn it every day.
Until the fire.
He closed his eyes, still able to smell the acrid odor of charred wood. The fire had been his fault. He’d hidden in a linen closet that day to sneak a smoke of one of Charles Mitchum’s big cigars. When one of the maids discovered him there, he’d made a run for it, leaving the smoldering cigar behind.
Later that night, a hysterical Violet had jerked the ring off her finger and thrown it at him, shrieking that she wasn’t his mother. Violet Mitchum had made her feelings for him perfectly clear that day, and he didn’t have any reason to believe those feelings had changed.
“Hey, Matt!”
He opened his eyes to see Cliff galloping toward him. The expression on his face didn’t bode well.
“What’s the problem?” Matt asked as Cliff reined his horse to a stop.
“It’s Bud.” Cliff tipped up his hat and wiped the sweat off his brow. “The chuck wagon lost a wheel about a mile back. Bud busted his wrist trying to repair it.”
“Damn.” Matt wheeled his horse around and rode toward the back of the herd. When he finally reached the lopsided chuck wagon, he saw the old cowboy seated on the ground, holding a wet cloth on his arm.
“What the hell happened?” Matt asked as he dismounted.
“Freak accident.” Bud winced as he lifted his forearm. “I guess my reflexes ain’t as good as they used to be. The axle on the wagon split as I was mounting a new wheel. Heard the bone crack and now it’s swelling up something awful.”
Matt nodded toward the half-empty whiskey bottle at Bud’s side. “I see you’ve been taking something for the pain.”
“There won’t be any supper for you boys tonight.” Bud lifted the bottle with his good hand and took a deep swig. “You’ll have to make do with the beef jerky and dried apples I’ve got stored in the trunk.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Matt walked to the back of the wagon, then knelt down to look at the broken axle. What he saw made his gut tighten. A neatly sawed fissure right above the splintered wooden beam. This hadn’t been any accident. Someone had deliberately sabotaged the chuck wagon.
“Have you met up with anyone unusual today?” Matt asked.
Bud shook his head, then leaned against the wagon. “Just that lady who’s been trailing us. But she’s kept her distance.”
Matt turned and looked at the Cadillac, now stopped about five hundred feet behind them. Calley Graham stepped out of the vehicle and began walking toward the chuck wagon. His gut told him she didn’t have anything to do with this mess. Not only would a woman of her stature have difficulty sawing her way through solid walnut, but she’d never had the opportunity. The chuck wagon had been closed up in one of the storage sheds on Tupper’s place until this morning. And Tupper was fanatical about keeping strangers out. He even had a twenty-four-hour guard at the front gate of his ranch.
So who did that leave? Marla had cursed him and the cattle drive only last night. Had she cajoled one of Tupper’s ranch hands into doing the dirty deed? Or had one of Hobbs’s men found a way to sabotage the chuck wagon without anyone noticing?
Matt still hadn’t figured out the answer by the time the Graham woman approached him.
“What happened?” she asked, looking first at the lopsided wagon, then at Bud.
“That’s just what I wanted to ask you, Miss Graham.”
“Please call me Calley,” she replied.
“Okay, Calley.” He removed his cowboy hat. “Since you’ve been stalking us for the last several hours, I was wondering if you happened to see anyone hovering around the back of the wagon.”
She shook her head. “It stopped three or four times, but the only person I saw was him.” She pointed to Bud, who was now sucking the last drops of whiskey out of the bottle.
“Are you sure about…” His voice trailed off as the sound of an automobile engine caught his attention. A pickup truck roared toward them, kicking dust and gravel behind its tires. Several grazing steers tensed, then turned as one and bolted.
Matt swore as he jumped on his horse, hollering to the cowboys ahead of him. Fortunately, they’d seen the commotion and had positioned themselves to prevent a stampede. When Matt was certain that a catastrophe had been avoided, he wheeled his horse around and rode up to the pickup truck.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The man who stepped out from behind the wheel didn’t reply. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “You Matt Radcliffe?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The name is Simms. Bill Simms.”
Matt saw Calley tense out of the corner of his eye. Simms wore a wrinkled blue suit and his thinning gray hair was parted just above his left ear. He had a spot of mustard on his striped tie and a weariness in his pale-gray eyes.
Matt looked from Simms to Calley. “You people seem to be under the mistaken impression that this trail ride is open to the public. I assure you that’s not the case. I have work to do and you’re both wasting my time.”
“I have a job to do, too,” Simms replied. “And that’s to bring you back with me to Texas.”
Matt shook his head. “Since you and Calley are so all fired anxious to see Texas, why don’t you go there together and leave me the hell alone.”
Simms glanced at her. “I take it you’re my competition?”
“That’s right,” she replied evenly, holding out her hand. “I’m Calley Graham.”
Simms shook it, his eyes widening. “Graham? You any relation to Walt Graham?”
She stepped back, her expression suddenly wary. “He’s my father.”
“I used to work with Walt. He was a hell of an investigator.” Simms smiled. “I take it you’re following in the old man’s footsteps?”
She nodded. “I’m trying, but it seems Mr. Radcliffe isn’t interested in his inheritance.”
A loud snore reverberated from Bud. It reminded Matt that he had more serious problems than two cattle drive crashers. Cowboys who needed to be fed, for one. And with Bud out of commission, this drive might end before it even began.
Unless he could find a replacement.
Matt studied Bill Simms, sizing him up. The man was about Bud’s age, maybe a few years younger. The paunch and double chin told him Simms hadn’t endured any strenuous physical activity in a long while. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And Matt was willing to settle for just about anyone if it meant winning this race.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Matt said to Simms over the rumble of Bud’s snores. “You take over as the camp cook and chuck wagon driver until the end of the trail drive, and I’ll return to Texas with you when it’s over.”
Simms snorted. “I can’t even boil water.”
“So you’ll learn as you go,” Matt replied, knowing the cowboys might balk at that arrangement. But what choice did he have? They’d hired on knowing they’d be roughing it for the next few weeks. Only now it looked as if their stomachs would be roughing it, too.
“Wait a minute,” Calley said, her blue eyes wide. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s business,” Matt told her in a clipped tone, ignoring the twinge in his gut. He had more to think about than hurting a stranger’s feelings. His ranch was waiting for him. All he had to do was earn it. “Well? Do we have a deal?”
Simms shook his head. “I’m not the outdoor type. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll change your mind about the inheritance. Never known a man yet to turn free money down.” He pulled a small business card out of his shirt pocket. “Give me a call when you’re ready to meet with the lawyers.”
When Matt refused to take the card, Simms shrugged, then walked over to Jericho and tucked it in the saddle. With a backward wave of his hand, he sauntered off toward his pickup truck.
“Hold on,” Matt called after him.
Simms turned. “Change your mind already?”
“I have an injured man here,” Matt replied. “Since you’re headed back to civilization, can you take him to the nearest hospital?”
Simms glanced down at Bud. “He’s drunk.”
“He’s in a lot of pain.” Matt walked over to the old cowboy and gently shook him. “Time to wake up.”
“Yeah…what do you want?” Bud’s eyelids fluttered, then he winced. “Damn! My arm hurts like hell.”
Matt carefully hefted Bud to his feet. “This man’s going to take you to see a doctor.”
Simms reached out to steady the inebriated cowboy, then looped Bud’s good arm around his shoulder and headed for his truck. But not before giving Calley a speculative backward glance. “Take care, Miss Graham.”
Calley didn’t say anything until Simms had loaded Bud into the truck and driven off. Then she turned to Matt. “I’ll do it.”
He looked at her. “Do what?”
“I’ll drive the chuck wagon. And cook the meals. And anything else you need me to do.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Forget it.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why? You just offered the job to Bill Simms.”
“That’s because I thought he might be able to handle it.” “So can I!” She followed him, refusing to let the subject drop. “I’m an excellent cook.”
“Cooking food on the trail isn’t the same as puttering around in a kitchen. We don’t have electric stoves or microwave ovens or dishwashers. No refrigeration, either.”
“Good. I like challenges.”
His smile widened. He had to give her credit. She was almost as stubborn as he was. “You might like challenges, but you won’t like those mules that pull the chuck wagon. They’ll need to be fed and watered every day. And they’ll stop when you want them to go and go when you want them to stop.”
“My grandpa raised mules on his farm,” she countered. “I’ve always been good with animals.”
He turned around to face her. “The answer is no.”
“That’s not fair.” She took a deep breath. “At least give me a chance to prove myself. And if I can do the job for the duration of the cattle drive, then you’ll come back to Texas with me. Just like you offered to do with Simms.”
Matt considered her proposal. More than likely she wouldn’t last one day, much less the month it was going to take them to reach the Lazy R. Calley Graham had no idea what she was volunteering for. Heat and dust and flies. Not to mention sleeping on a hard wagon bed every night and washing in an icy stream.
Still, her offer might buy him a little time to figure out another solution to this unexpected problem. It would take him and the boys the rest of the day to round up the herd and rig up a new axle for the chuck wagon. A decent supper would be a just reward for their first hard day on the trail.
“If I agree,” he began, noting the spark of hope that lit her blue eyes, “you’ll have to follow through with your part of the bargain. All the meals will be your responsibility, as well as driving the wagon and caring for the mules. No one else will have time to help you out.”
“I can do it,” she vowed.
He shook his head, certain he was making a mistake. But what choice did he have at this point? “You’ll have to leave your car here.”
“Not a problem,” she said evenly.
His eyes narrowed. “Why is this so important to you?”
Calley hesitated for a whisper of a second. “I believe in living up to my responsibilities. I took on the job of bringing you back to Texas and I intend to see it through—no matter what I have to do.”
Matt couldn’t argue with that. “We’ll be camping here tonight. I guess you can use Bud’s supplies since he won’t be needing them now. His bedroll is inside the wagon.”
She nodded. “All right. But I just want to make sure we’re clear. If I can do the job until the trail drive is over, you’ll let me take you back to Texas for Violet Mitchum’s memorial service.”
“I give you my word, Miss Graham,” he said solemnly. He didn’t add that she’d never be able to tough it out. Or that he’d rather walk barefoot through a thick field of cockleburs than return to the Mitchum house again.
She held out her hand. “Shall we shake on it?”
He took her hand in his, surprised at the softness and warmth of her skin. Her small fingers seemed fragile in his grasp, although her grip was surprisingly strong. Even more surprising was the virile reaction he had to her touch. Matt realized too late that he might have made a huge mistake.
“One more thing,” he said, seeking a reason to keep holding her hand. He didn’t like the need she stirred in him. Or the way her blue eyes made him want to move closer. “If you can’t hack it, then you walk away. I don’t want you getting hurt or putting yourself in danger because you’re in over your head.”
She gazed up at him with an enigmatic gleam in her blue eyes. “There’s one thing you should know about me, Mr. Radcliffe. I’ve dedicated my life to living dangerously.”
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