A Texan for Hire. Amanda Renee

all?”

      Abby blinked back tears. “No. Notes were our thing. Every year for my birthday, Walter sent me a clue and I had to search for my real gift. It was never anything of monetary value—it was always something much greater. I guess you could say this is my final clue, a few weeks before my birthday. I need to know what it means. I’m hoping you can help me figure it out.”

      “I promise to do my best.” Clay rested his hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

      His touch rocketed through her. The forwardness alone should have sent Abby in the other direction. Instead, she found his simple gesture comforting, understanding.

      “Thank you. Ours was an unconventional relationship, and as strange as all this must sound, it worked for us. I had no idea he was sick until it was too late.”

      Clay gave her hand a brief squeeze before he withdrew and continued studying the contents of the folder. Instantly, Abby missed his touch and wanted to say, please don’t let go yet. Just a few more minutes. But she needed to find the meaning of Walter’s note, not send the man running in the opposite direction.

      “I see you were born here,” Clay said over the top of the folder.

      “Walter was stationed at Randolph Air Force Base when I was born. My parents rented an apartment here in Ramblewood until on-base housing became available, but I’m not sure how long they lived here. My mom hasn’t been very forthcoming with any information. I figured Ramblewood was the best place to start. I’m hoping you can find someone here who remembers them.”

      “How old is your sister?”

      “Here you are.” Bridgett set their food on the table. “Holler if you need anything else.”

      Abby inhaled the scent of her BLT. She twisted the top off the ketchup bottle and smacked the bottom of it until it poured onto her fries.

      “I don’t know how old she is, or if she exists.”

      Clay remained silent. Abby looked up to find him staring at her incredulously. She placed the bottle on the table and shrugged. “What? I like ketchup.”

      Eyes wide, he asked, “You don’t know how old your sister is or if she’s real?”

      “This is all news to me. The nurse said my father wrote the note hours before he died. Deathbed confessions being what they are, I thought there might be something to it. Although my mother and father—I call my stepdad my father because he raised me so he earned that title—never heard of any sister. My mom says if one existed, she would have known about her since she had remained in contact with his family. Given that Walter was in the service and stationed overseas for a while, anything is possible.”

      “So I’m looking for a woman in no particular age range, possibly not even in this country, who may or may not exist?”

      “I know this is a long shot. Logic tells me she’s younger—maybe there was someone else after my mom and Walter split, although no one I’ve spoken with on his side of the family knows anything, either. A part of me wonders if this is why my parents divorced. Mom has been quick to dismiss it, which makes me even more curious.”

      Clay didn’t respond. He ate a few spoonfuls of chowder and reviewed the documents along with the sparse notes she had jotted down. Abby dove into her sandwich, studying him.

      If she’d met Clay on the street, she wouldn’t have guessed he was a private investigator. Physically, he was more the actor or country singer type with his high cheekbones and the dark blond stubble along his jawline. Clean-cut meets cowboy. He was definitely easy on the eyes, and Abby wondered why he was still single. Not that it was any of her business, but Kay had made it a point to tell her that much.

      “Before I take a case,” he said. “I have to let you know in advance that I run a background check on all my clients. It’s standard practice, so if there’s anything you need to tell me, please let me know now.”

      “I have nothing to hide.”

      Clay regarded her from across the table, and she fidgeted in her seat. She knew she probably appeared desperate, but she needed Clay to help find out if her father’s message was true. With only two weeks off from work, Abby was on a definite time crunch. Even if Walter hadn’t written the note, she needed the break from the hospital. And, it gave her time to plan her next animal-assisted therapy proposal. Giving up wasn’t an option when her patients’ well-being was at stake.

      Clay cleared his throat and she met his questioning look. “Assuming nothing turns up in your background check, I’ll start with the court house and military records to see what I can discover. Do you know how long he was stationed at Randolph Air Force Base?”

      Abby shook her head. She didn’t have much information to offer him. Her internet searches on her biological dad hadn’t turned up anything.

      “Do you always meet your clients here?” she asked, taking another bite of her sandwich.

      “I meet them wherever it’s convenient. I don’t have an office, per se. I have clients scattered throughout this and the neighboring counties so I usually go to them.”

      “I couldn’t find any record of you online,” she said, in between bites of her fries.

      Clay laughed and pulled a napkin from the chrome dispenser on the table. He wiped his mouth. “Investigating me now, huh?”

      “I’m hiring you to handle a significant matter. If this sister exists, it will change both of our lives, so yes, I did some research on you.”

      “Well, it’s definitely a challenging case, but if she’s out there, I’ll do everything in my power to find her. Just be forewarned of one thing. If I do locate her and she doesn’t want you to have her contact information, I can’t give it to you.”

      Abby almost dropped her sandwich. “That hardly seems fair. What kind of backwards law is that?”

      “Technically it’s not, but it should be. It’s strictly ethics based—my ethics—and any investigator worth his or her salt will tell you the same thing. You have no idea how many cases I’ve turned away because an abusive husband is trying to find out where his wife ran off to with the kids. That’s why most investigators run a background check on their clients first.”

      “I guess that makes sense.” Abby hated to think Clay could possibly unearth the answers she wanted and then not share them with her. “Kay speaks highly of you, and although I just met her today, I’m taking her word for it. But it still doesn’t explain why I couldn’t find you online.”

      Clay grinned, his left brow rising a fraction. “Kay’s been a second mother to me and one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. I swear I spent more time at her house than I did at my own when I was growing up. Now that I think about, it still holds true today. To help ease your mind, I’m a retired Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms field agent turned private investigator. The reason I’m not online is because I don’t advertise. I rely solely on word of mouth. Did Kay happen to mention anything else while she was at it?”

      Abby swore she saw a slight tinge of color spread across Clay’s face, and she wasn’t sure if it was the jalapeño chowder or the question itself. Either way, she found it endearing.

      “Kay made a point to tell me you’re single.”

      “I had a feeling she did.” The edges of his mouth curled upward as he kept his eyes on his lunch. “I love her to death, but she’s a bit of a matchmaker.”

      “How’s my favorite customer this morning?” The woman who had greeted Abby when she first arrived stood at the edge of the booth, patting Clay’s shoulder. Her laugh lines deepened as she grinned. “If you talk to your momma today, tell her to stop in. I made her favorite rum-vanilla cream pie.”

      “Will do.” Clay turned to Abby. “Abby Winchester, this is Maggie Dalton, The Magpie’s infamous owner.”

      “Infamous!”