Big Sky Romance Collection

by Denise Hunter

  But the coffee shop’s Internet had been down for two days, and she’d somehow become her aunt’s assistant in the stagnant shop. Her mom called twice for her initial assessment on Aunt Lucy. Abigail’s diagnosis so far: eccentric but not fatally so. No reason to rush her off to assisted living just yet, but she realized after some Internet research on dementia that she needed to watch her aunt for signs of forgetfulness.

  The bell over the door tinkled, and a woman and a little girl walked in.

  “Good afternoon,” Abigail said. “Can I help you find something?” Probably not, since she knew nothing about the dolls other than a few of their names.

  “We bought a doll here for my daughter’s birthday last summer, and she’d like another. We’re passing through on our way to Yellowstone.”

  “I want a blond-haired one.” The little girl tucked her own swingy hair behind her ear.

  Abigail smiled. “Well, we have lots of those. Look around and see who catches your eye. Any one of them would love to have a mommy like you.”

  The child frowned at her. “I’m just a little girl.”

  The mother laughed as the bell tinkled again, announcing Aunt Lucy’s entrance. Saved by the bell. Her aunt led the customers to the back of the store, and Abigail resumed dusting. She’d just cleaned out the window display by the front door and returned the dolls when the door opened again.

  A girl of ten or eleven entered. She walked as if the floorboards might snap under her slight weight. Abigail didn’t see her tears until the light from the window hit her face.

  “Hi, honey,” Abigail said. “Are you okay?”

  The girl looked toward the back of the store where Aunt Lucy was pulling a doll from the shelf, then back toward the entrance.

  Abigail squatted in front of her. Now that she was closer, Abigail noticed her wide-set green eyes and a light smattering of freckles on her nose. “Is that your mom?”

  The girl shook her head. “I need to talk to Miss Lucy.”

  “Miss Lucy’s with a customer right now. Could I help? I’m Miss Lucy’s niece, Abigail. What’s your name?”

  The girl turned her eyes on Abigail for the first time, and a fat tear slid down her face. “Maddy Ryan.” Her lip trembled. “Somebody took my bike.” Another tear tumbled down her cheek.

  Abigail frowned and took her hand. It was cold and wet from her tears. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I . . . I rode to town ’cause Dad said I need a haircut, and I wanted to buy some candy ’cause I saved some money. I parked outside the market.” She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a handful of Twizzlers. “When I came out, my bike was gone.” Maddy drew a shuddery breath that threatened to turn into a full-out bawl.

  Abigail glanced at Aunt Lucy, who was introducing the customers to another blond doll, then turned back to Maddy. “Well, here, put your candy back in your pocket. Let’s go back to the store and see what we can find out.” She placed a hand on the child’s shoulder and led her out the door. “Did you call your parents or tell anyone at the store about your bike?”

  “No, I came straight to Miss Lucy.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.

  “Well, let’s see if anyone at the store saw something.”

  When they reached Pappy’s Market, Maddy gestured to the walk along the building. “I parked right here.”

  Abigail glanced along the building, down the street, and all around, as far as she could see. Pedestrians and cars bustled by on what was probably a busy Saturday for Moose Creek. No sign of a bike.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Positive. I always park here.” She pointed to the empty spot. “My dad got it for my birthday.” Her lip quivered and her eyes filled again.

  “Do you want to call him? I have a cell phone.”

  Maddy looked down at her cowboy boots and shook her head. “He’s working, and his cell phone doesn’t work too good out there.”

  Abigail squatted in front of her and took both her hands. “I know you don’t know me, Maddy, but it just so happens I’m very good at getting to the bottom of things. I promise I won’t give up until we figure this out, okay?”

  Maddy nodded.

  But an hour later, after reporting the missing bike to the sheriff and questioning the clerk at Pappy’s Market, they were no closer to finding the missing bike.

  “I still haven’t gone to the Hair Barn,” Maddy said. “Miss Greta— she’s our housekeeper—is going to be mad if I’m not home soon.”

  “Well, let’s see. How about if you get your hair trimmed, then I’ll take you home in my aunt’s car.” A thought hit her. “But your dad wouldn’t want you riding in a stranger’s car.”

  “Miss Lucy’s not a stranger. She lives in one of our houses.”

  “Oh—your dad owns Stillwater Ranch then. I’m staying at my aunt’s for the summer. Do you want to call your mom and make sure it’s okay to get a ride with me?”

  “My mom died. But my dad trusts Miss Lucy. I go to her house sometimes.”

  She was young to have lost her mother.

  “Well, let’s do this then. Go get your hair cut, then come to the doll store when you’re finished and I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “But what about my bike?” Hopeful green eyes looked up at Abigail.

  “Don’t give up; every mystery has a solution. We’ll figure out what happened to your bike, even if we don’t do it today.”

  Ten minutes later Maddy was safely ensconced in a chair at the Hair Barn, and Abigail returned to the Doll House.

  “Can I borrow your car in a few minutes, Aunt Lucy?”

  “Certainly, dear, the keys are by my purse.” The mother and daughter were gone, and Aunt Lucy sat in her rocker sewing a half-finished doll.

  “I met a friend of yours: Maddy. Her bike was stolen down at the market, and I told her I’d give her a lift home. You think her dad would mind?”

  “Oh no, the poor dear. She loved that bike.”

  “I told her I’d help her track it down.”

  “Well, if anyone can find it, you can.”

  “She seems young to be wandering through town alone.”

  “She’s eleven, and this is a very safe town. Why, the stolen bike will probably make the front page of the Moose Creek Chronicle.” Aunt Lucy eyed the bald doll in her lap. “Now, what color hair do you want, Victoria? . . . Oh yes, black will suit you very well.” She pulled a skein of fuzzy black yarn from her bag, then nudged her thick glasses up on her nose.

  “She seems kind of lonely. Maddy, I mean,” Abigail added, in case her aunt thought she referred to the doll. “She said her mom died.”

  “She is lonely, I think. Comes to the house sometimes to visit, her and destiny.”

  Destiny? Her aunt said the strangest things. “So you don’t think Maddy’s dad would mind my driving her home?”

  “Oh no, I’ve known Wade since he moved here. He’s famous, you know. Voted Sexiest Man Alive by one of those movie star magazines.”

  Sure he was. And Abigail won the Pulitzer last year.

  Aunt Lucy smoothed the black yarn for Vanessa. Or was it Victoria? All the names were running together in Abigail’s head.

  “Did the little girl find a blond doll?”

  “Oh yes, she adopted Lillian. They’re a perfect match.”

  “They were on their way to Yellowstone, they said? How far away is it? I noticed the Moose Creek sign called the town the Gateway to Yellowstone.”

  Aunt Lucy nodded. “Used to be, dear, but then they built other highways into the park. Most folks don’t come this way anymore. Mayor Wadell is trying to change that, but he’s not having much luck.”

  “It’s a quaint town.”

  “There’s been many a fuss over a national advertising budget, but those tightwads on the council won’t spend a dime. Meanwhile, shops like mine are struggling. But God has it under control. He’s taken care of me this long.”

  Abigail frowned. “If only people knew about it.” It wa
s a shame for the town to go unnoticed. And for the shops to struggle. She looked around the quiet store and was sure it had seen better days.

  Well, she couldn’t solve the world’s problems, or even Moose Creek’s, but she could give one little girl a ride home.

  She snatched up the keys. “I’ll run Maddy home.”

  “All right, dear.”

  Abigail headed out to her aunt’s old yellow VW bug. Who would steal a lonely little girl’s bike? She didn’t know, but one thing was sure. She was going to find out.

  3

  Wade Ryan felt the same way every year when calving season was over: proud and disappointed. There was still plenty of work left before summer. He and the neighboring ranchers would pitch in with branding, vaccinating, and earmarking, and then another summer would begin.

  Wade closed the pen, letting his hands linger on the splintered rail. The cows and their calves made soft lowing sounds. Twilight swallowed the valley, and a bright moon rose over the Gallatin Range.

  He should get inside to Maddy and relieve Greta. His stomach let out a rowdy grumble, reminding him he’d worked past suppertime again. Turning, he tried to tell himself he was glad that calving season was over and summer perched on his doorstep.

  But summer meant Maddy was home, meant another nanny was coming, meant worrying about his daughter and how she spent her time. She was growing up, getting to the age where a girl needed a mom. Even he could see that.

  Wade steered his thoughts a different direction. Today had enough worries of its own. He’d hired a young preschool teacher, who was off for the summer, to look after Maddy this year, and he was sure the girl would be good for his daughter. Well, as sure as you could be about anything, he reckoned.

  Maddy burst through the front door, trotted down the porch steps, and met him in the yard. She curled her arms against the chill in the air.

  “Get your hair cut, squirt?” Even in the dim light he saw it was pulled back as always.

  “Can’t you tell?”

  Should an eleven-year-old girl wear the same hairstyle every day? He wouldn’t know what else to do with it. He pushed back the guilt. “It’s not hanging in your eyes, at least.” He ruffled her bangs. She had Lizzie’s fine, soft hair, but the rich mahogany brown came from his mother’s gene pool.

  They traipsed toward the house side by side.

  “My bike got stolen in town,” Maddy blurted.

  Wade frowned. “Stolen? You sure?” Not that bad things didn’t happen in Moose Creek, but these were neighbors. They worked together, worshiped together, celebrated together. Practically extended family, whether you wanted them or not.

  “I parked it at the market, and when I came out it wasn’t there.”

  He hated she’d lost her bike and figured chances of finding it were slim. Maybe he should buy her a new one—wasn’t like he didn’t have the money. But Greta said he spoiled his daughter, and maybe she was right.

  “Need to file a report,” he said.

  “Abigail already did. And she asked people questions and stuff too. She’s going to help me find it.”

  “Who’s Abigail?”

  “Miss Lucy’s niece. She’s visiting for the summer, and she said she’s good at solving mysteries.”

  Probably would’ve seen her around if it hadn’t been for spring works season. He’d been gone dawn to dark for days. “A mystery, huh?”

  “The Case of the Stolen Bike. She thinks we can figure it out pretty quick. Hope so. I don’t want to go all summer without it. We’re going to start looking on Wednesday.”

  “What about school?”

  “Dad. Tuesday’s my last day, remember?”

  Had he told the new nanny that? It had been weeks ago. He couldn’t remember. Wade made a mental note to call her tomorrow after church.

  He opened the door for Maddy, and she ducked under his arm. She was getting tall. He noted the frayed hems of her jeans as she passed through to the kitchen. Blame it all if they weren’t hanging three inches above the toes of her boots. The sleeves of her Western shirt were turned up at the cuff despite the chilly May weather, and the shirttail wasn’t long enough to stay tucked in.

  Why was he always two days late when it came to Maddy? Why hadn’t he noticed she’d outgrown her clothes?

  “Supper’s in the oven, Wade,” Greta said as he entered the kitchen. She tugged her thick sweater over her ample frame and flipped her gray hair over the collar.

  “Smells great,” he said. Greta hadn’t noticed that Maddy had outgrown her clothes either. That made him feel a little better.

  Greta and her husband, Pee Wee, lived in one of the camp houses. Pee Wee wasn’t much taller than Greta, but he was Wade’s cowhand, and a fine one too. Greta did the household chores a few hours a day, but she’d made it clear from the beginning she wasn’t a nanny. The couple had never had kids of their own, but neither one had said why, and he sure wasn’t asking.

  “See you at church,” she said.

  “Thanks, Greta.”

  The back door clicked quietly behind her.

  Wade hung his hat on the peg, then turned to help Maddy get the food on the table. She waited for him every night, no matter how late he was.

  Once supper was on the table, he said grace and they dug into Greta’s roast beef. The woman could cook. Once the worst of his hunger was satiated, he slowed down.

  “Homework done?” he asked.

  “When I got home from school yesterday.”

  “Grades okay?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll make honor roll.”

  Wade didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a daughter like Maddy.

  “Can I help with branding when school’s over?” she asked.

  He pictured the anxious calves kicking up a ruckus as they were heeled, held, and worked. He’d received more than his share of knots and bruises when they dragged calves. “Not this year, Maddy.”

  Her sigh filled the quiet house. “You say that every year. I have friends at school who’ve been holding down calves since they were seven.”

  Wade knew it was true. His neighbor’s kids, younger than Maddy, helped every year. Still, it only took once. One kick to the head, one blow to the face. “You can watch.”

  Maddy pursed her lips, her gaze sliding down to her food.

  Was he overprotective? Maybe so, but he wasn’t taking any chances with his daughter. She was all he had.

  “Can we go somewhere this summer, Dad? Just you and me? Everyone at school is going somewhere.”

  He shook his head.

  “Just for a long weekend? Wouldn’t have to be far . . . just someplace else, like Seattle or Salt Lake City—”

  “You know we can’t, Maddy. We might be recognized.” It broke his heart to say it, to see the light in her eyes go dim. But what could he do? They were trapped here, like it or not.

  She looked down at her food, moved the roast beef around with her fork. A minute later she pushed her plate back. “I’m going to bed.”

  He should insist she finish. A growing girl needed nutrition, and her height was stretching her out, making her skinny. But she was already putting her plate in the sink.

  “Get a shower first,” he said.

  She turned at the doorway, one hand on the wide woodwork. “Dad. I’m almost a teenager. You don’t have to tell me that anymore.” She said it with more patience than he probably deserved.

  “Sorry.” He watched her turn the corner, heard her bare feet padding up the wood stairs, heard the shower kick on, and wondered if he knew anything at all about raising a teenage girl.

  Wade found the number on a scrap of paper in his desk drawer and dialed the old phone. The mammoth computer hummed on his desk, and outside the open window Maddy encouraged her horse.

  Charlotte answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, Charlotte. Wade Ryan from Stillwater Ranch, just checking in to make sure you’re arriving on Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “Oh. Hi, Mr. Ryan.”


  Something in her tone of voice troubled him. Maybe he’d caught her at a bad time.

  “Listen,” she continued. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Well, I mean, good news for me, but not so much for you.”

  He didn’t find her chuckle amusing.

  “Thing is, my boyfriend, he’s like from Billings, and he asked me to move in with him. I mean he only asked me Friday night, and I should’ve called you right away, but I spent all day yesterday moving and—” She muffled the phone and spoke to someone else. “Sorry about that. And sorry I didn’t call yesterday. This probably leaves you in a lurch with Marley.”

  “Maddy,” he said absently.

  “I’m really sorry about quitting last minute, but he—my boyfriend— lined up a job for me at a day care in Billings, and well . . .”

  Wade wanted to tell her she was inconsiderate, rude, and irresponsible. Instead he sent up a silent petition for patience, then cleared his throat. “I understand. Don’t suppose you know of another teacher needing a summer job?”

  “Sorry . . .”

  He could hear the cringe in her tone. Well, so what, he was cringing too. Cringing because he had two days to find someone to keep tabs on his daughter.

  He wished Charlotte good luck and hung up the phone. Two days. He glanced out the window and watched Maddy set her boot in the stirrup and swing her leg over her horse’s back.

  Maybe she could manage without a nanny. He tried to think back to eleven. He’d made plenty of extra trouble for his parents, he was ashamed to admit.

  No, eleven wasn’t old enough. In another summer or two, maybe, but not yet. And he knew better than to ask Greta. He planted his elbows on the desk and scraped his fingers through his hair. Two days to find someone responsible, trustworthy, and available.

  Where am I going to find a woman like that in two days, God?

  4

  Abigail was on her third set of squats when she heard the noise outside Aunt Lucy’s cottage. She walked to the door and peeked out the half-moon window to see Maddy dismounting a brown horse as easily as Abigail could dismount a bike. The horse neighed, tossing its white-streaked nose. Its hooves danced in the grass, dangerously close to Aunt Lucy’s fake spring blooms. Oh well. Not like she couldn’t just stick them back in the ground.