Hot On His Trail

“Todd Radcliffe ran out on his family when Matt was eight years old.”

Calley looked up from the photo. “I assume you’ve already contacted Matt’s mother?”

Lily nodded. “Apparently, she and her son are not close. When we first spoke with Rita in November she had no idea where to find Matt. Although she did tell us that he calls her on Christmas.”

Calley glanced up. “That was two weeks ago.”

Lily smiled. “We gave Rita a small gift for her cooperation. A new cordless phone with—”

“Caller ID,” Calley concluded, feeling the first tingles of excitement.

“That’s right. My brother just told me she contacted Finders Keepers a few days ago.” Lily reached into a thin file folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is the telephone number Rita wrote down after her son called.”

Calley looked at the area code. “505. That’s New Mexico, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Dylan traced the phone number to a roadstop café outside of White Rock, New Mexico. It’s a small town just north of Santa Fe. He contacted the owner of the café. Apparently, no one there knows Matt Radcliffe.”

“Which means we can assume he was just passing through.”

Lily nodded. “That’s all we have to go on. We don’t even have a description, since Rita hasn’t seen her son in years.”

Calley looked at the old photo once again. “He’ll be tall and have dark hair.”

“Rita did tell us that her son has dark brown eyes,” Lily added, handing the file to Calley. “And that he loves horses.”

As Calley glanced at the manila file folder in her hand, then at Lily, her heart began beating double time. “Does this mean I have the job?”

“Well, you might want to hear the conditions first.”

Calley placed the photo of Matt Radcliffe inside the folder, hoping Lily couldn’t see the way her hand was shaking. She didn’t give a fig about any conditions. She’d walk all the way to New Mexico if necessary.

“You won’t be the only one looking for Radcliffe,” Lily continued. “There is another man interested in this position. He’ll be on the case, too. Whoever is the first one to bring Radcliffe back here wins the job.”

Calley stood up. “Then I’d better get started.”

Lily looked up at her. “So you’re still interested?”

“Definitely,” Calley said, her blood racing at the thrill of competition. It had been too long since she’d felt that thrill. Much too long.

“Oh, one more thing,” Lily added, as Calley headed for the door.

She turned. “Yes?”

“You left a blank space on your application.” Lily held it up. “Do you have anyone we can contact, such as a family member, in case of an emergency?”

“No,” Calley said, wishing the lie wasn’t necessary. “I don’t have anyone.”

CHAPTER TWO

MATT RADCLIFFE stood at the corral as the sun set on the horizon, the last golden rays caressing the sparse grass and sagebrush growing along the fence. He propped one boot up on a metal rail and watched the herd of one hundred longhorn steers paw up a cloud of fine dust inside the large enclosure.

He tried to ignore the spark of excitement in his belly. But it smoldered there, refusing to be doused by good common sense. At sunup, he would embark on a fool’s errand, dreamed up by Rufus Tupper, New Mexico’s richest resident fool. A gentleman rancher, Rufus had never raised so much as a blister. He left that to the real cowboys, like Matt. Men who loved the land but couldn’t afford to buy a ranch of their own.

That was all about to change.

“Hey, cowboy.”

Matt turned to see Marla Mackovic walking up to the corral. She was a former Las Vegas showgirl who had hoped to cash in on Tupper’s wealth when he’d asked her to come live at the ranch. Instead, she spent most of her time dusting his horse trophies and preparing his hangover tonics.

“I missed you at supper,” she said, ambling over to him, her hands behind her back. Her overpermed hair hung like a black cloud down her back. He’d always liked Marla, even if she did wear too much makeup and perfume. But he didn’t like the calculating gleam he saw in her eyes this evening.

“I had a few last-minute preparations to make.”

“I brought you a piece of cherry pie.” She took a step forward and placed the napkin-wrapped pastry into his hand. Warm, red filling oozed out and ran over his thumb.

“Thank you,” he said, sucking the sweet filling off his knuckle. Not wanting to disappoint her, he ate the pie in three bites, though it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He had too much at stake today to care about food.

“Rufus wants to see you before you go,” she told him, her long yellow broom skirt swaying softly in the warm breeze.

“Then he’d better get his butt out here,” Matt said, licking the last crumbs off his fingertips.

“He wants you to come inside. Rufus is in one of his moods. I made him a bloody Mary a little while ago and he threw it against the wall. Said the tomato juice had too much pulp in it.”

Matt stared at her for a long moment. “Why do you stay here, Marla? You can do better than this.”

She arched one waxed eyebrow. “Why do you?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m leaving tomorrow. And I’m not coming back.”

“Take me with you,” she cried, reaching out to grasp his forearm. “I can cook for you and the cowhands. Wash your clothes. Sing and dance. Anything you want.”

Matt smiled. “You wouldn’t like it out on the trail, Marla. There aren’t any televisions or stereos or refrigerators. No indoor plumbing.” He reached for the hand still clutching his arm, and gently patted her thin fingers. “And no beauty salons to keep up this pretty manicure, either.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, curling it into a fist to hide the long, polished red nails. “I don’t need manicures, Matt. Or any of those other things. I just need…you.”

He swallowed a sigh. Marla didn’t need him and she sure didn’t love him. She just wanted someone to take care of her. She’d been looking for that someone ever since she’d run away from home at seventeen. Young and pretty and temperamental, she’d wasted the last two years of her life to be at Tupper’s beck and call. Obviously, she’d finally realized that she’d never find her way into the eccentric rancher’s heart.

“I’m too old for you, Marla,” he said gently.

“You’re not as old as Rufus. He’s almost fifty.” She tossed her long black curls over her shoulder. “And you’re only thirty-two.”

“And you’re barely twenty. You should be out having fun. Not traipsing around on a dusty trail with a bunch of cowboys.”

“Anything is better than here,” she muttered, then sidled closer to him, placing her small hands on his chest. “Besides, I like you, Matt. I’ve always liked you.” Her soulful brown eyes gazed up at him. “You’re so big and strong.”

Her hands slid up around his shoulders and smoothed over the biceps outlined by his chambray shirt. He inhaled the stale aroma of her heavy perfume and saw the mascara smudges beneath her eyes.

“And so brave,” Marla whispered seductively. “None of the other cowboys stand up to Rufus like you do.”