A Cowboy's Touch (19 page)

It didn’t seem different come morning. Or night. Or the night after that. Even though Wade wasn’t around—had made a point of not being around, Abigail suspected—she couldn’t seem to forget. Her traitorous mind relived the night in minute detail, slowing for her favorite parts, then rewound them again, just for torture’s sake.

She thought when she got back to her research, her feelings would change. But no matter what she read, no matter how much speculation the media had cast upon Wade, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything as horrific as murdering his wife. She remembered the look of regret in his eyes when she’d asked about Elizabeth’s death.

Her instincts said he wasn’t responsible. But was her intuition clouded by feelings? She’d never wrestled with this before, had never gotten too close to her subject, and hated that now, of all times, when
Viewpoint
was on the line, her feelings were muddying her judgment.

She needed to be impartial. And while Wade’s absence might help her peace of mind, it wasn’t helping her investigation. And it wasn’t helping Maddy either. He’d missed dinner two nights in a row, returned after Maddy’s bedtime, and Abigail felt responsible.

She wondered how long he’d keep this up. Didn’t he know his daughter needed him? Apparently it only took one little moment of chemistry to scare him away from his most important job.

Which brought up the other point Abigail had been wrestling with. What was it exactly that stopped Wade from pursuing their relationship? Sure, Abigail worked for him, and sure, she was only there for the summer, but those were issues people worked around.

Was there something more? Was he scarred from having lost his wife so suddenly? Afraid of his past catching up with him? Or had his relationship with his wife—which apparently hadn’t been all that great—sworn him off women for good?

And why was Abigail speculating about a relationship that was doomed from the start? Doomed by the column she was obligated to write? And she
was
going to write it, one way or another.

Somehow, she had to get back on a regular footing with Wade. Both for Maddy’s sake and for her column’s. It was obvious now that she had to aim for friendship. Anything more would send him running. Not to mention mess with her own peace of mind, distract her from her job, and cloud her judgment.

No moony looks, no flirting, no sauntering, and no touching. She thought of his clenched fist under her hand the night before. He’d definitely been pushing the boundaries of his restraint. Definitely no touching.

You’re the Truthseeker. You can do this
.

Wade’s stomach rumbled. He was half tempted to ignore it the way he’d been ignoring his feelings for Abigail. He lifted the saddle and pad from Ace’s back, set the saddle in the tack room, then brushed the underside of the pad.

Who was he kidding? He may have avoided her for two days, but he’d hardly ignored his feelings. Truth be told, thoughts of Abigail rattled around his brain all day, and there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do about it. Avoiding her might feel safer, but it also meant neglecting Maddy. He hadn’t seen her in two days. What kind of father was he?

He stored the pad, then began brushing Ace with short, quick strokes. Wade had to go in for supper whether he wanted to or not. It was the mature thing to do. And if he could manage forty cantankerous bulls, surely he could handle one harmless woman.

He pressed his lips together.
Harmless, my foot
.

He finished grooming Ace, checked the horse’s hooves, then led him to his stall. After the horse was settled for the night, Wade walked toward the house with the eagerness of a man approaching his final meal.

Cowboy up, Ryan. Focus on something else
. He was eager to see Maddy and he was hungry. He’d start with that. The kitchen was lit, and through the window he saw Maddy and Abigail already eating at the table. After two nights of eating without him, they’d given up waiting, he supposed.

He drew a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped inside.

“Daddy!” Maddy’s chair squawked across the floor as she popped to her feet and gave him a hug, making him feel even guiltier.

His eyes met Abigail’s over her head. She gave a benign smile, then fetched him a plate. When Maddy returned to her seat, Wade hung his hat and removed his boots.

“We just started.” Abigail set his plate and silver at his spot.

“It’s your favorite,” Maddy said. “Greta let me make the mac and cheese! Well, Abigail helped.”

Moist-looking slices of ham were stacked on the serving platter, and a bowl of creamy mac and cheese sat beside it. “Looks great.”

“We already prayed.” Maddy took a mouthful of pasta.

“Guess I’m covered then.” Wade served himself. He wondered if Abigail was looking at him. If Abigail was thinking about the Fourth. If Abigail knew how close he’d come to placing a kiss on those lips even as she’d slept in his cab. Of their own volition, his eyes darted her way.

She looked away, stirred her mac and cheese.

He smothered a sigh. If they could just get through this meal, then things would return to normal. Whatever that was.

“What’s wrong?” Maddy was looking at him.

“Nothing.”

“You’re frowning.”

He had to pull it together. “Just thinking.” Wade faked a smile, then cut into his ham. Tender, like always. Greta might have the disposition of vinegar, but there was a reason he kept her around.

They ate in silence. Wade chewed faster in an effort to speed the meal along. Maybe he and Maddy could play a game, or maybe Abigail would go to bed early.
Please, God
. He could imagine the bubble of tension bursting with her exit.

“What’s going on?” Maddy looked between them.

Abigail took a bite of ham, dropped her eyes to her plate, and chewed slowly.

Thanks a lot
. “Nothing,” he said.

More chewing. He could feel Maddy’s appraisal. She was no dummy, and his acting skills apparently needed work.

“Did you two have an argument?”

He gave his daughter a look. “No, we did not. Finish your supper.” He was sure Abigail was looking at him now. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead.

He wished the meal were over. Why had he loaded down his plate? And why had he initiated the clean-your-plate rule with Maddy?

“ ’Cause it was just like this last summer when Miss Greta and Mr. Pee Wee had that argument over his new truck. They wouldn’t even look at each—”

Wade gave Maddy a stern look.

“What . . . ?” Maddy’s eyes widened.

Abigail’s lips twitched.

He pressed his lips together, drilled Maddy with a look. “Eat your supper.”

Maddy looked contrite. “Sorry.”

Wade felt a prickle of guilt for his firm tone, but daggonit, the girl could be so nosy, and did she have to put him on the spot in front of Abigail?

They finished the meal in silence. When they set their dishes in the sink, Maddy asked them to play Operation, and Abigail declined. Relieved, Wade agreed. Anything to get things back to normal.

They set the game up on the coffee table in the living room, taking seats on the floor, and when Abigail left the room, Wade could’ve sworn he heard the balloon of tension pop.

Abigail took the stairs slowly, her muscles protesting. She almost hated leaving the room when she’d had so much fun at dinner. Listening to Maddy question her dad had been amusing, especially when he’d gotten so uptight about it. Seeing the flush crawl up his neck had been rewarding.

She turned at the landing and took the next flight. She would’ve gladly stuck around for the game if she hadn’t been in the saddle so long that evening. Her muscles would hate her come morning if she didn’t give them a long, hot soak.

When she rounded the corner on the second floor, Maddy’s not-so-quiet voice carried up the stairwell. “Sorry . . . embarrassed you.”

Abigail stopped and strained to hear Wade’s response. The pause lasted so long she thought she’d missed it.

“. . . have questions, at least wait until we’re alone,” Wade answered.

“Sorry.”

A faint buzz sounded.

“The bread basket’s the hardest one, Dad.”

“Now you tell me.”

With his large hands and those tiny tweezers, the game was probably impossible for Wade. There was a pause, and Abigail imagined Maddy reaching for one of the pieces.

She should draw her bath. She took a step.

“So . . . really have an argument?” Maddy said.

“Maddy.”

“You said to ask when we’re alone.” A pause. “Got it!” she said louder.

“Good job.” He lowered his voice. “And no, already told you we didn’t have an argument.”

“Well . . . really strange. Don’t you like her, Dad? Is that why you haven’t been home?”

Abigail covered a smile.

“ ’Cause I like her a lot,” Maddy continued. “She’s the best nanny I ever had.”

Abigail’s heart warmed at Maddy’s words.

“Like her just fine.” A buzz sounded again, and Wade’s sigh carried all the way up the steps.

“Boy, Dad, you’re not very good at this.”

Abigail smiled all the way to the bathroom, where she drew a warm bath and wondered what challenges tomorrow would hold.

19

W
hat was she doing wrong? Abigail surveyed the vegetable garden—or rather, the rectangle of dirt where the vegetables were supposed to be sprouting. Greta said gardening was easy, but if it were so easy, where were her seedlings? They’d worked hard, had taken two afternoons just for planting, and that didn’t count the tilling and soil preparation.

Abigail squatted in the dirt, hoping for a microscopic sign of green. Nothing. Stupid sprinkler. She gave it a glare. What was she doing wrong? She’d ask Aunt Lucy for help, but the woman would probably advise her to stick plastic vegetables in the dirt.

“How’s the garden?”

She hadn’t heard Wade’s approach. She stood and turned, glad things had grown less awkward over the past two days. She couldn’t help but notice that he cut a fine figure against the Montana skyline in his Western shirt and faded jeans.

“Nonexistent,” she said. “Don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I picked a sunny spot and followed the planting directions. Guess I really am a city girl.”

He surveyed the barren soil. “What’d you plant?”

“Potatoes and corn mostly.”

“Maddy’s favorites.”

She shrugged. “How do you think I got her to help?”

He grinned. “You watering?”

“Every day.”

“How long?”

“Timer’s set for fifteen minutes.”

“Not long enough. A shallow watering dampens the soil but won’t reach the roots. Run it an hour every few days. A thorough soaking makes for strong, healthy roots.”

“Oh.” Abigail looked at the damp soil. “Is it too late to fix? It’s been almost three weeks since we planted.”

He shrugged. “Try and see. Where’s Maddy?”

“Upstairs, cleaning her room.”

Wade’s brows lifted. “How’d you manage that?”

“I told her we were going to redecorate.” She hoped he remembered her asking a few weeks ago. “That still okay?”