A Cowboy's Touch (11 page)

“Go ahead.”

As she rolled, Wade noted a knot already rising on her forehead, scrapes on her cheek.

Her hand covered her eyes in slow motion. “Turn off the lights.”

He set his hat on her head, careful to avoid the knot. “I think you lost consciousness.”

“Mmm.”

She probably had a concussion. He should check her pupils, which meant he’d have to touch her. Couldn’t be helped. “Need to check your pupils.”

“They’re still there.”

“Wise guy.” Wade held open one eye and watched it react to the light. Her eyes were mossy green with flecks of amber. Not that he noticed. He checked the other, and pulled back as soon as the task was completed. “Think you’ll live.”

Dirt and grass clung to her cheeks. He wasn’t going to be the one to brush it away.

Maddy went to her knees beside Abigail. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I shouldn’t have ridden off without you.” Tears and guilt glimmered in her eyes.

“My fault,” Wade said. “Guess Trinket’s not as steady as I thought.”

“No,” Abigail said. “I—I think I gave her a signal accidentally— and then I couldn’t remember your instructions. I should’ve listened better.”

“Feel like sitting up?” Wade asked.

“What if she broke something?” Maddy asked.

“Nothing broken.” Abigail pushed herself up, wincing as she came upright. “See?” The angry knot on her forehead bulged.

Wade had to admire her tenacity. He knew from experience her head was ringing. “Dizzy?”

Her gaze bounced off Maddy. “No.”

“Liar,” he whispered. Inside, he shrank. There was no way he could let her ride back alone. She could pass out. Another fall wouldn’t do, and she couldn’t ride back with Maddy. The girl wasn’t strong enough to keep her on the horse if she blacked out.

“Maddy, get Trinket.”

His daughter scurried away, and Abigail felt the lump on her head, knocking his hat to the ground in the process.

Wade retrieved it and put it on. “How’s that head?”

“Beating like a jungle drum.”

“Need to get some ice on that bump. Sure nothing else hurts? Move your arms around, wiggle your fingers.”

She followed his instructions, still wincing against the light.

“Can you stand?” Gritting his teeth, he took her hands and helped her to her feet. She was light as a reed and twice as pretty in her formfitting jeans. Wade scolded himself for noticing. Just because Dylan went all gaga over a pair of long legs was no reason he had to go there.

Abigail took a tentative step forward. She was as unsteady as a foal. She wasn’t riding alone.

Wade took her elbow and guided her toward Ace. “We’ll take mine.”

Abigail eyed Ace skeptically. “Yours is further from the ground than Trinket. Do I really have to go up there?”

“Unless you want to sleep out here.”

“No thanks. The ground is harder than it looks.”

“So’s your head, apparently.”

She sent him a mock glare.

“You’ll be fine. Ace is steady as a rock.” He stopped in front of Ace.
All right, Ryan, buck up
. He reached out and scooped Abigail into his arms.

She gasped. One arm flew around his shoulder, and her other hand clutched his shirtfront. “You could’ve warned me.”

Her hair smelled like sunshine and flowers. Her curves fit into him like she belonged there.

You could’ve warned
me.

The smell of her, the feel of her, made him miss all the things he could never have. Wade set his jaw and placed her gently in the saddle. The moment he released her, his empty arms—who was he kidding?—his empty
heart
, complained.

Thoughts like that’ll get you nowhere fast, Ryan
.

“I can’t reach the stirrups,” Abigail said.

“Don’t need to. Scoot forward and make room.” He put his foot in the stirrup.

“For what?”

Swinging his leg over, he settled behind Abigail.

“
Oh
.” She squirmed forward, but only got so far. She finally settled in the cradle of his thighs in a way he found most disturbing.
Can’t be helped. Just this one time. Be over before you know it
.

He reached around Abigail for the reins, then nudged Ace forward and took Trinket’s reins while Maddy mounted Destiny.

“Go slow,” he told his daughter.

“I second that.” Abigail white-knuckled the horn. She was stiff as a barn door.

Even though she leaned forward, the heat of her body seeped through his clothes. The sweet smell of her teased his senses. He leaned back, determined to think of something else. Something less soft and curvy. Something that didn’t smell so good and feel so right.

Instead of swaying with Ace’s movement, Abigail fought it. She was going to be in worse shape than she already was if she rode home that way.

“Relax.” His breath stirred her hair. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Easy for you to say.” Despite her words, her shoulders slowly dropped and she sank into the curve of his chest.

Wade gritted his teeth.
You asked for it, Ryan
. He was thankful he held Trinket’s reins in one hand, because the urge to wrap his arms around her was as compelling as it was absurd. What was wrong with him?

Then again, what did he expect when he’d been without a woman so long? Hadn’t so much as touched one since Lizzie.

But it was more than that. He wasn’t that shallow, and Abigail wasn’t just any woman. In the short week he’d known her, he’d come to appreciate her. She was considerate and patient, and he liked her self-deprecating humor. She somehow seemed strong and vulnerable at the same time. And she was completely unaware of her feminine charms.

He hoped the thudding of Ace’s hooves covered the thumping of his heart. Last thing he needed was his nanny thinking he was interested. ’Cause he wasn’t. Not a bit.

The ride home was long and arduous. The word
torture
came to mind, but he tossed it out, refusing to admit he was so bothered by Abigail’s proximity. When the house came into sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. Almost there.

He pulled Ace’s reins as they drew up to it, then dismounted. The instant he left the saddle, a weight he didn’t care to define settled in his midsection.

“Maddy, take the horses.” He handed off Trinket, and his daughter led the mare toward the barn.

“Your turn,” he said to Abigail.

“I got it.” She slipped down until she could reach the stirrup and swung her leg over.

Wade held her steady at the waist until she was on her feet, refusing to admit his touch might’ve been unnecessary.

“Thanks.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes.

The knot on her forehead had swelled and colored. “Get some ice on that.”

“I will.” She turned toward the house, steady enough.

“You get nauseated or have blurry vision, tell Greta.”

Abigail started to nod, then checked the motion.

He hoped she wouldn’t overdo it. He’d known one too many cowboys to take a fall, keep working, then keel over later.

“Lie down and take it easy,” Wade called.

“Yes, Dad,” Abigail said saucily.

Wade clamped his lips together. Last thing he wanted was Abigail thinking fatherly thoughts of him. Heaven knew, his own weren’t going that direction.

Sergeant Greta wouldn’t let Abigail off the couch all day. The woman wanted her to see a doctor, but when Abigail refused, Greta relented. She pressed her lips together. “Suit yourself,” she said before returning to her cleaning.

Two Tylenol tablets later, Abigail’s head settled to a dull pounding. Maddy brought ice packs on the hour and retrieved the laptop to keep Abigail occupied.

When Maddy went outside to play and Greta went upstairs to vacuum, Abigail looked up articles on Wade. A pang of guilt hit her even as she typed in the search words.

She couldn’t reconcile the man who was accused by some of murdering his wife with the man who’d tended her in the meadow.

Not to mention the man who’d swept her into his arms and deposited her so gently in the saddle. She sure hadn’t been thinking about his past when she’d been cradled against his chest . . . when his arm had curled around her . . . when his breath had stirred the nerve endings in her ear and tingled all the way down her spine. She’d been thinking about lots of things, but not his past.

Maybe her instincts were off. Maybe he really was a lonely widower who’d been left to care for his young daughter and pursued relentlessly by the nosy paparazzi.

Well, she wouldn’t know for sure until she researched thoroughly. It was
fact
that mattered, not emotion. She couldn’t let her decisions be clouded by feelings.

Not that there were
feelings
. She barely knew the man, for heaven’s sake. And she sure didn’t trust him. Even if he did seem gentle and caring.

She clicked on a link, then another and another. Twenty minutes later she was browsing photos of Wade at a National Finals Rodeo when she realized she’d gotten off track. Way off track. Sure the photos were interesting, and he was attractive from every angle, but it was getting her nowhere with her research. Shaking her head, she started another search, determined to stick to business.

She turned up an article written after Wade and Maddy disappeared that included details Abigail hadn’t come across before. Supposedly there was a large lapse of time between Elizabeth’s time of death and Wade’s 9-1-1 call. Between eight and nine hours, the article said.

The original article had appeared in a small magazine, but when she searched the website, there was nothing more recent. The magazine was now defunct, she supposed.

Abigail was surprised the article was still online. There wasn’t even a writer attributed. If she could find the person who’d written it, she could find out if there was any credence to the detail.

But if it was true, why had the police let him off the hook so quickly? She’d seen Wade’s enormous earnings from his rodeo wins. Had he paid off someone?

Abigail didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to think Maddy’s father incapable of the heinous crime. What kind of man killed his daughter’s mother? And yet, people committed atrocious crimes all the time. It was up to her to find the truth.

She was unaccustomed to this tug-of-war. She was a journalist, the Truthseeker, not the Bleeding Heart. She had to stick to the facts and not let her relationship with Maddy or Wade cloud her judgment. Which, she realized as she exited the website and shut down her computer, was easier said than done.

12

S
omething pulled Abigail from the oblivion of sleep. Her head pounded. Surely someone was hitting it with a sledgehammer. She lay motionless, trying to gather the will to hunt down the Tylenol.

Before she could move, she sensed a change in the room. Her eyes snapped open. It was dark, save for a sliver of light beneath the door. Even as her eyes skimmed past, a shadow fell at its base. She heard the quiet click of her doorknob turning.

Abigail’s heart raced, the pounding in her head all but forgotten.

It’s just Maddy
.

She watched the gap between the door and frame widen. The article from the night before surged to her mind, adding fuel to her thudding heart.

A hulking silhouette formed against the background. Broad shoulders, trim waist. Why was Wade coming in here? Did he know about her research? Had she left the laptop in the living room? Had he looked at her history? She couldn’t turn her head to check her nightstand, couldn’t let him know she was awake.

Think, Abigail!

Wade took a step toward the bed and then another. What should she do? Better he think her asleep and helpless, she decided, tensing at his approach. The floor creaked quietly under his feet as his form swallowed the light from the hall.

He held something. The light flashed off it. Her breaths became shallow puffs.

Then he was there. Beside her bed. Leaning over.

Oh, God, what do I do?
She pressed her lips together, forbidding the scream that gathered in her throat.