Kristin Eckhardt - Hot On His Trail

Deep, dark-brown eyes, like chocolate melted under the warm sun. They pierced right through her and made her shift restlessly in her chair. Eyes that held his secrets and seemed to hold the power to discover hers, as well.

Not that she’d ever give him the opportunity.

Still, if he could look this good in a driver’s license photograph, she didn’t want to think about the effect he might have in person.

She tore her gaze from his picture and studied the statistical data. Matt Radcliffe was thirty-two years old, according to the date of birth recorded on the license. He was six feet tall and two hundred pounds, and judging by his photograph, all of it muscle. The faded chambray shirt he wore stretched taut across his broad shoulders.

Calley pulled a notepad out of her bag and jotted down the address listed on his license, 5521 Alameda Street. She handed the file back to the clerk, then hurried out the door toward her car. Finally she had a solid lead. But then, so did Bill Simms. No doubt he was well on his way to finding Matt Radcliffe while she’d been wasting time drooling over his picture.

Thirty minutes later, she was knocking on the door of 5521 Alameda Street, hoping against hope that Simms hadn’t already been here. Or worse, that he and Radcliffe hadn’t already left for Texas.

At last the door opened and a little girl with brown eyes blinked up at her. “Hello.”

“Hi there.” Calley knelt down so she would be at the little girl’s eye level. The child looked to be about four or five years old, with red hair cut in a pixie style. “What’s your name?”

“Bianca.”

“Hello, Bianca. My name is Calley.”

“You’re pretty,” Bianca said.

Calley smiled. “Thank you. You’re very pretty, too.” She wondered if this was Matt Radcliffe’s child. “Is your daddy here?”

Bianca shook her head. “He’s working.”

“Is your name Bianca Radcliffe?” Calley asked, not able to contain her curiosity any longer.

“I’m not allowed to tell my name to strangers,” Bianca replied very solemnly.

“That’s right,” Calley said reassuringly. “You’re a very smart little girl, Bianca.”

The child nodded. “I didn’t tell the other man my name either.”

Calley had no doubt that the other man was Bill Simms, which meant he was still one step ahead of her.

A moment later, a young blond woman, obviously pregnant, appeared at the door. “Can I help you?”

Calley straightened. “Hello, my name is Calley Graham. I’m looking for Matt Radcliffe.”

“He’s not here,” the woman said, her expression slightly guarded.

“But he does live here?”

The woman hesitated, her hand on the door as if she might slam it shut at any moment. “Why are you looking for Matt?”

“It’s…something I’m not really at liberty to discuss.”

“There was a man here an hour ago looking for him, too. I don’t give out personal information to strangers.”

“Actually, I’m a private detective.” Calley experienced an unexpected thrill at saying those words aloud. “I’ve been hired to find Mr. Radcliffe.”

Bianca looked up at her mother. “Is Uncle Matt lost?”

Uncle Matt. If the little girl called him that, chances were good that he wasn’t her father, although he could still be responsible for the child the woman was carrying. Calley briefly wondered why it mattered to her.

“No, honey,” the woman said to Bianca. “He’s not lost.” Then she lifted her gaze back to Calley. “Matt’s been good to us. I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”

Instinctively, Calley knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with this woman unless she told her the truth. “The reason I’m looking for Mr. Radcliffe is because he’s a beneficiary in a will. The sooner I find him, the sooner he can claim his inheritance.”

“Oh, well that’s different,” the woman said with a small smile of relief. “Matt’s out on a drive.”

So he did live here. Calley ignored the twinge of disappointment deep inside her. “Do you mind if I wait here until he returns?”

The woman laughed. “No, I mean he’s out on a cattle drive. He’ll be gone for at least a month. Maybe even longer.” She placed a hand on her swollen belly. “Hopefully, it will be over before I have to make a trip to the maternity ward.”

“Is there any way you can contact him?” Calley asked.

“No. Although I might be able to reach my husband.”

“Your husband?” Calley echoed, thoroughly confused. “Isn’t Matt your husband?”

The woman laughed. “No. Matt’s terminally single. Cliff Donovan is my husband. He works for Matt, although they’re more like brothers than boss and employee. Matt was the best man at our wedding. He sublet his place to us a year ago. But he still uses it as his official address for mail and stuff.”

A sizzle of excitement shot through Calley’s veins. So Matt Radcliffe wasn’t responsible for this woman’s child. Her determination to find him became stronger than ever. “Tell me about this cattle drive.”

* * *

MATT KNEW it was a bad sign when his horse threw a shoe before they even made it past the boundaries of the Tupper ranch. Not that he believed in all the old cowboy superstitions. But he did have a healthy respect for omens, and this one made him uneasy. Especially on the heels of Marla’s curse.

At least he knew better than to relay his misgivings to the crew. Except Cliff, who had questioned the wisdom of working for a man like Tupper. In fact, Cliff had been the last one to sign on, reluctant to leave his pregnant wife and his tiny heartbreaker of a daughter. Matt regretted taking the man away from his family, but he also knew how much the Donovans could use the money. In the end, he’d left the choice up to Cliff, who had wrangled over the decision before finally agreeing to join the drive.

Fortunately, Arnie was a farrier who’d spent many years shoeing horses on the range, so the delay hadn’t cost too much time. Matt easily caught up with the herd, which was moving well along the stretch of grass that paralleled Highway 20.

Bringing up the rear was Bud, driving the chuck wagon. Two extra horses were tied to the back of the wagon in case one of the working horses turned up lame. The terms of the bet made it clear that this was to be an authentic, old-fashioned cattle drive. No motor vehicles, no cellular phones or any other modern conveniences of the twentieth century. The only exception to that rule was allowing them to stock up on supplies at towns along the route.

Each cowboy carried a bedroll on the back of his saddle. Their saddlebags contained rain gear, extra clothes and personal toiletries. Pup tents were packed in the chuck wagon in case of inclement weather, along with a first-aid kit, matches, blankets, towels, soap and plenty of nonperishable food and other supplies.

Five hours after leaving the Tupper ranch near Fort Sumner, they reached the first watering hole—a small cove branching off the Pecos River. The cattle moved eagerly toward the water, some walking right into it up to their bellies.

Matt took off his cowboy hat and wiped his damp brow with his bandanna. It was going to be hot again today, which meant he’d have to slow down the drive so he didn’t lose any cattle to the heat.

He looked up to see Arnie hailing him. Reining his horse around, Matt rode over to him.

“We’ve got a problem,” Arnie said without preamble.

“What now?” Matt asked, dread churning in his stomach. “Stray cattle? A lame horse?”

“Worse,” Arnie replied. “A woman.”

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