Always A Mcbride. Linda Turner

see if he knew the McBrides. Surely in a town the size of Liberty Hill, the sheriff had to know just about everyone.

      His thoughts on what he would say to the McBrides when he finally found them, he had no intention of eating breakfast. The scent of baking apples and cinnamon was incredible, but he intended to skip the traditionally elaborate meal that came with the cost of his room. He just didn’t have time.

      Considering that, he should have headed for the front door the second he reached the bottom of the stairs. But in the kitchen, Phoebe laughed softly and murmured something he couldn’t quite catch, and with no conscious decision on his part, he found himself following the sound of her voice.

      She was dressed as she had been last night, in the soft, flowing gown and robe that had made his sleep so restless, and for a moment, he cynically wondered if the lady always cooked breakfast in her nightclothes or if she had just done so this morning for his benefit. Then he realized she didn’t even know he was watching, and he felt like an idiot.

      All her attention was focused on the puppies, who were climbing all over each other, tumbling into her lap, their little tails wagging happily as they tried to get to her. Squirming and wiggling, they licked her on the face, making her giggle, and for the first time since his mother had died, Taylor found himself fighting a smile.

      No woman had a right to look so pretty in the morning. She’d piled her hair up off her neck with a clip, but other than that, she’d done little to make herself beautiful. Her face was free of makeup, and she hadn’t even bothered with shoes. From where he stood, Taylor could see her bare toes peeking out from under her gown and robe. Her nails were painted with a delicate pink polish, matching the natural blush of her cheeks, and with no effort at all, he could see her sitting in the old-fashioned bathroom, her foot propped against the clawfoot tub as she painted her toenails by candlelight.

      A cynical man, Taylor readily admitted that he liked women who were sophisticated and politically well connected. From what he’d seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. He shouldn’t have found her the least bit appealing. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. As he watched, she picked up each puppy, kissed it on the nose, and placed it in the cardboard box she’d used to make them a bed. With a will of their own, his eyes lingered on the curve of her mouth. Would her lips taste as soft as they looked?

      Caught off guard by the direction of his thoughts, he would have sworn that he didn’t make a sound, but suddenly, Phoebe glanced up and found him standing in the doorway. Not the least bit self-conscious, she smiled. “Good morning. I’m sorry I’m not dressed yet. I had a few unexpected guests under the back porch this morning. I hope they didn’t wake you.”

      “I’m an early riser,” he said gruffly. Nodding at the puppies, he said, “Where’s the mama?”

      “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug as she gave the last puppy a kiss and placed it in the box before rising to her feet. “I’m afraid she’s abandoned them. There was no sign of her, so I called Merry McBride. She’ll be by later to pick them up.”

      Surprised, Taylor couldn’t believe his luck. When he’d taken the room last night and learned this woman was handling the bed and breakfast for her grandmother, he’d never dreamed she would know a McBride. “Who’s she? Does she own the local animal shelter or what?”

      “Actually, she’s the vet,” she replied. “She’ll take care of the puppies and find them good homes.”

      Taylor opened his mouth to grill her about what she knew about the McBrides, only to remember just in time that he was supposed to be a writer, not a lawyer. He could ask as many questions as he wanted—he just couldn’t cross-examine her as if she was on the witness stand.

      So with a casualness he was far from feeling, he frowned and said, “McBride…that name sounds familiar. Is her husband a rancher in the area?”

      Phoebe laughed. “McBride is her maiden name. Her husband’s Nick Kincaid, the sheriff. Her family ranches, though. In fact, there’s been a McBride ranching in Liberty Hill for over a hundred years. You definitely need to talk to them for your book.”

      Stunned, Taylor couldn’t believe she’d given him so much information so quickly. Were the McBrides she spoke of his father’s family? His mother had said his father was a cowboy. How was he related to Merry, the vet? And how did Phoebe Chandler know so much about the family?

      Curious, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and asked her just that. “How do you know the McBrides? Are you friends with them or what?”

      She smiled. “I’ve known them all my life. My grandmother and Sara McBride are best friends.”

      “And Sara McBride is…”

      “Merry’s mother. She and Myrtle have known each other forever. They were in first grade together, went to college together, and were in each other’s weddings. I can’t think of any major event in my grandmother’s life that Sara wasn’t there for. They’re like sisters.”

      “So what about Mr. McBride? What’s his name?”

      “Gus.”

      She said his father’s name so casually and didn’t have a clue what she’d given him, Taylor thought. He’d found the son of a bitch! And he hadn’t even been in Liberty Hill an hour. Never in a million years had he dreamed finding his father would be this easy. Now he just needed his address.

      He couldn’t, however, come right out and demand it, not without raising Phoebe Chandler’s eyebrows. So he swore silently, clamped a lid on the anger that always boiled in him whenever he thought of Gus McBride, and reminded himself that he had a role to play. “If Sara’s your grandmother’s age, Gus must be getting up there in age, too. Is he still ranching? Or don’t ranchers retire? What’s his story?”

      Surprised, she blinked. “Gus? Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t I tell you? He died years ago.”