Always A Mcbride

Her tone as businesslike as his, she added, “The bathroom is across the hall—there are extra towels in the linen closet if you need them. Breakfast is served between seven and ten in the dining room. If there’s anything in particular you would like added to the menu, just tell me and I can have it for you the following morning.”

Not giving him a chance to say anything, she rattled off a list of the inn’s other amenities. “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know and I’ll try to get it for you. Enjoy your stay.”

Giving him a curt nod, she didn’t wait to see if he had any questions, but simply turned and headed for her room further down the hall. She knew it was rude, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t understand why someone like Taylor Bishop stayed at a bed and breakfast. He obviously wasn’t the type to enjoy it. Logically, she knew he hadn’t had any other choice—there were no other public lodgings in town—but he still irritated her. Taylor couldn’t have cared less that the sheets and towels were line-dried so they would have that fresh scent that was impossible to get in a drier, or that she herself had experimented with dozens of new breakfast recipes, searching for just the right dishes that would make breakfast each morning memorable. He just wanted to be left alone to work.

Fine, she fumed as she stepped inside her own room and shut the door with a little more force than was necessary. Let him hole up in his room. The less she had to deal with him, the better!

Finally alone, Tyler found a phone book in the bottom drawer of the desk in the corner and wasn’t surprised to discover that although the directory covered several counties, it wasn’t even an inch thick. After waiting his entire life to track down his father, it took him less than fifteen seconds to find the McBrides in the phone book. There were two: Joe and Zeke.

Frowning, he refused to be discouraged. His father could have an unlisted number, or there was always the possibility that he had moved. After all, it had been forty-one years since his mother met Gus at the Cheyenne rodeo that fateful summer. Gus had claimed he was a cowboy, but there was no way to know for sure that he was telling the truth. He’d been a cowboy sweet-talking a pretty girl. That made anything and everything he’d said suspect.

Still, there were McBrides in Liberty Hill, Taylor thought in satisfaction. Whether they were related to Gus or not remained to be seen, but the odds were in Taylor’s favor that they were. After all, Liberty Hill was hardly bigger than a postage stamp. Everyone was bound to be related to everyone else. Now all he had to do was get either Joe or Zeke to tell him where Gus was. Then he was going to hunt his old man down and tell him exactly what he thought of him.

Over the years, he’d lost track of the number of times he’d contemplated that meeting, but as he undressed and climbed into the big, old-fashioned poster bed that dominated the room, he found he couldn’t concentrate on the old, familiar image as he usually did. The quiet stillness of the house surrounded him, and through the open window, a gentle breeze stirred the night air with a freshness that reminded him all too clearly that he wasn’t in San Diego anymore. Just that easily, he found himself appreciating the line-dried sheets—and thinking of Phoebe Chandler.

He could still smell the scent of her shampoo.

Irritated that he’d even noticed, he swore softly in the darkness. What the devil was wrong with him? He was on a mission and it had nothing to do with an innkeeper’s granddaughter. Granted, she had a natural beauty that had caught him off guard, but she wasn’t his type. He liked his women sophisticated and worldly, and from what he’d seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have time for women right now. The only thing he was interested in was finding his father…and making him pay.

Satisfied that he had his priorities straight, he deliberately put her from his thoughts and concentrated instead on what he was going to say to Joe and Zeke McBride when he approached them about Gus. He generally didn’t like to plan things too much—he worked better when he went with his instincts. Tracking down Gus McBride, however, was too important to leave to chance.

So, just as he did when he was working on an important trial, he tried to work out every possible contingency. Normally, he could have worked well into the night on a case without ever growing sleepy, but it had been a long, emotional day and evening. He yawned…and felt himself losing ground. With a sigh, he gave up the fight and let himself drift toward sleep.

His last thought should have been about his father. Instead, a whisper of the night breezes drifted in through the open window, teasing him with a sweet, faint scent that reminded him inexplicably of her. Like it or not, she was his last thought before he fell asleep.

When Phoebe came downstairs the next morning, dawn was still nearly an hour away. It was her favorite time of the day. There were no telemarketers calling on the phone, no TVs or radios blaring, no trucks shifting gears as they made their way down Main Street. Quiet echoed like a sigh, and for a while, at least, Phoebe could almost believe she was the only one in town awake. She loved it.

Unfortunately, this time she had to herself couldn’t last. Although her guest hadn’t told her what time he would like breakfast, she had a feeling he was an early riser. She’d be lucky if she had another two hours to herself. She planned to enjoy it before she had to deal with Mr. Personality.

A grin tugged at her lips at the unexpected nickname her psyche had come up with for Taylor Bishop. She didn’t mean to be mean. After all, she didn’t even know him. Like everyone, he was bound to have some good qualities. And she had to admit, he was an incredibly good-looking man. Looks, however, weren’t everything. She’d never met anyone who could push her buttons so easily. And he planned to stay the entire time her grandmother was gone!

If he’d been anything other than a writer, she might have been groaning at the thought. But she doubted that she would see much of him. If he wasn’t off somewhere doing research, he would, in all likelihood, be holed up in his room writing. If she was lucky, the only time she’d have to deal with him was at breakfast. And once the other guests arrived, she’d spend most of her mornings in the kitchen.

The cooking, more than anything else, was what she was really looking forward to. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day, and as she stepped to the pantry to pull out her baking supplies, she could already taste the Virginia ham, apple strudel, and hot, homemade croissants that were planned for part of the morning menu. Mr. Personality hadn’t blinked twice when she’d showed him to his room. She’d like to see similar restraint when he sat down to breakfast. If he was expecting ordinary bacon and eggs, he was in for a surprise.

Grinning at the thought, she’d just stepped out of the pantry, her arms laden with ingredients, when she thought she heard a cry in the predawn quiet. Surprised, she stopped in her tracks, listening. Then she heard it again.

“Oh, my God!” she said softly, “that sounds like puppies!”

Hurriedly dumping her supplies on the kitchen table, she grabbed a flashlight from the drawer by the refrigerator, then quickly unlocked the back door and rushed outside just as what sounded like an entire litter of puppies started to whimper and howl from under the porch.

The hems of her nightgown and robe trailing behind her, she flew down the steps, only to laugh when she peered under the porch and found six lab-mix puppies staring up at her warily. “Oh, poor babies! Are you hungry? Where’s your mama?”

For an answer she got wagging tails, puppy grins and a couple of brave woofs. Just that easily, they stole her heart. Murmuring soothingly, she held out her hand to them. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to take you inside and find you something to eat. C’mon, that’s it. Oh, aren’t you sweet!”

Hungry and lonely, they cautiously came out from under the porch, and within seconds, little tails were wagging in greeting. Laughing, she scooped them all up and carried them inside.

His head buried under a pillow, Taylor came awake to the sound of yapping puppies and a woman’s delighted laughter floating on the morning air. Disoriented and still half asleep, he found himself fascinated by the sweetness of the sound. Had someone new moved in next door? he wondered sleepily. She had a laugh like an angel. Who was she? He hadn’t seen anyone new….

She laughed again, but this time, the fog of sleep clouding Taylor’s brain parted and images of last night came rushing back. The wreck, Liberty Hill, Phoebe Chandler. She was the one downstairs, the one laughing, the one who fascinated him.

He swore softly, unable to believe he was thinking of her again. He kept waking up during the night because of her—every time he’d closed his eyes, all he could see was Phoebe, standing in the light of the entry hall in her old-fashioned gown and robe, her hair flowing around her shoulders as she opened the door to him. And now here she was, back again, walking out of his dreams into his waking thoughts.

And it was damn irritating! he thought, scowling. He didn’t have time to lie around thinking about the old-fashioned lady downstairs. He had work to do. Throwing off the covers, he grabbed his clothes and stepped across the hall to the bathroom. Once he had a shower, he’d get on the phone, order a rental car from Colorado Springs, then get to work finding his father.

Ten minutes later, when he headed downstairs, he was all business. He’d ordered the rental car and decided to start his search for his father by paying a visit to the two McBrides listed in the phone book. No addresses were listed but he didn’t expect that to be a problem. He’d call both McBrides at nine, and if he couldn’t track them down, he’d walk over to the sheriff’s office and 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.”

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