Chapter 4

4

T he man who answered the door was not Clancy Kennedy, otherwise known as Jason Commingson.

He was taller, broader, and far better-looking. He was wearing a cowboy hat and a Western shirt that was unbuttoned one button too far, making him look like a stripper who was pretending to be a cowboy. Tabby would have put money on the fact that he'd never mucked a stall or been on a horse that wasn't paid for with a quarter.

He also looked like he'd just caught a hurricane in a bottle and wasn't sure what to do with it. He couldn't quite hide his look of alarm when he heard Clancy's real name, so Tabby knew she was close to her quarry, and she refused to be sidetracked by a handsome cowpoke Magic Mike.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

He glanced behind him, but it wasn't a guilty look. "Keep it down," he hissed. "She's sleeping."

There was a little girl curled on the couch, wrapped in a cheap quilt. She had brown curls over an angelic face, slack with sleep. Little fists clutched at the blanket; she couldn't have been more than four.

The house, aside from the sleeping child, looked like a bachelor crash-pad. Some attempt had clearly been made to clean it, and there was a box of toys on top of the kitchen table, but there was a motorcycle in parts taking up most of the living room, and the art and decor suggested single guy clinging to his youth . The only artwork was posters of beer ads and half-dressed women. They were tacked to the wall, not even framed.

"Clancy Kennedy," Tabby said firmly. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," the man said, and he looked too frazzled to be lying as he pulled off his hat and dragged his fingers through dark hair in need of a cut. He had a curious shock of bright white hair that suggested he was older than he otherwise looked. "I honestly have no idea, and I'd be happy not to ever see him again. Look, I'm really sorry about…whatever he did to you, but I can't help you. I can't help you. "

Tabby didn't offer to go, and he didn't offer to close the door on her. They stood in a standoff until even Tabby could recognize that it was awkward. "You're his cousin, right? Logan Kennedy?"

"We're not close," Logan said defensively.

"Well, do you know someone who would know where he was?" Tabby asked impatiently. She was not going to let this be another dead end. "Under any of his many, many names? Jason Commingson? Harvey Killroy, maybe?"

That earned her a look of surprise. "How'd you figure that out?"

"I'm a smart cookie," Tabby snapped. "And Clancy isn't as clever as he thinks he is."

Logan gave a loud snort of laughter and turned in alarm to make sure it hadn't woken the little girl. She slumbered on, in that limp, lost way that only the truly young are capable of.

"Child services said they know where he is," Logan said thoughtfully. "But I know Clancy. He won't have any of your money left."

"I don't want his money. I want the horse he sold me. That he's sold a dozen times, apparently, across seven different states, now. Is that his kid?" Tabby wasn't sure that she was desperate enough to leverage his child against the guy who had cheated him, but she was pretty desperate.

"No, it's—she's mine now. My brother's. He's dead. I'm all she's got. Her name is Franzi."

"Oh." Tabby felt her resolve crumble before pity. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"We weren't close," Logan said, but he said it regretfully. "For a lot of reasons, and Clancy was one of them. Do you know anything about kids? I have to get the house childproofed before social service's visit and I don't even know what that means. I mean, I tried to leave their office without a car seat. They just handed me a kid . I have no idea what I'm doing."

He was gorgeous, but he had a wild look around his eyes, and if Tabby hadn't been sorry for him before, she definitely was now.

"I usually deal with older kids," she admitted. "But let's start with the biggest risks. Do you have any guns?"

It was Montana, so Tabby was a little surprised when Logan shook his head.

Tabby walked in as Logan stood aside and surveyed the room. "Okay, she looks old enough not to put weird stuff in her mouth, drown in a wash bucket, or stick her fingers in electrical sockets, but let's look at strangle risks. Your blind strings should be put up out of reach. "

Logan followed her pointing finger and obediently wound the strings up out of the way, reaching over the sleeping girl to get them. "I never would have thought of that," he whispered. Franzi didn't stir.

"The motorcycle is a crushing hazard, probably," Tabby said just as quietly. "Can you secure it to the wall so it can't fall on her? I know that dogs and pets aren't supposed to drink antifreeze, so is there anything toxic that should be sealed up?" The tools and fluids were all already put away—for a project clearly in progress, it was surprisingly tidy already. Logan found a bungee cord that he could sling around the bike and clip to a radiator. Tabby gave it a test poke and agreed that it would withstand at least a casual bump. "If she's really determined, she might be able to tip it."

They moved a mostly-empty bookcase over to cover a hole in the drywall where it looked like someone had kicked it in, more for aesthetics than for safety.

The kitchen was spic and span, if poorly stocked; the girl would have to climb up on the counters to get the knives, and the kitchen chairs were probably too heavy for her to move to stand on. "What do kids like to eat?" Logan wanted to know. "I've got some mac and cheese and bread. Do kids still hate vegetables?"

"I think it varies by kid. Have you asked her?"

"I asked what she likes," Logan said in despair. "But I only understand about half the words when she talks fast and I'm not even sure she was talking about food."

Tabby was standing close enough that she couldn't resist patting his arm comfortingly, and then it was hard to make herself stop. It was a very nice arm. "You're doing a good job," she said reassuringly.

"You don't have a lot to base that on," Logan reminded her .

Tabby had to laugh. "Well, no, but you're trying. That's more than some dads do. Just buy some vegetables and try them on her. You might be surprised." Should she ask if he had money problems? Nothing in the tiny apartment looked worth anything. Everything was secondhand at best, and many of the shelves were bare. Only about half the cabinets still had doors. "Is there anything you…need?"

"A job?" Logan said. "Sorry, that's probably not what you meant. And I wouldn't know what to do with her while I worked, even if I had work."

"Day care? I guess that's pretty expensive."

"And—" Logan shut his mouth around whatever he was going to say. "I've got to figure it out, I guess."

Tabby wasn't made of stone. He was earnest and clearly determined to do what was best for the poor orphaned little girl. "What line of work are you looking for?"

"Well, that's a big part of my problem. I haven't got any training or certification or work history," Logan said, shaking his head. "I've been…er…off the grid a while, and a few months each year of living in a car taking seasonal work isn't going to cut it with most employers."

Clancy Kennedy was a con man. Was Logan, too? He wouldn't be the first guy to go straight when faced with parenthood, and Tabby knew she was a sucker for someone trying to make a fresh start. "You just have to figure out how to spin your experience," Tabby said cheerfully. "You have some repair expertise, right?"

"I'm not sure how an indigent hobby mechanic looks on a resume."

Tabby considered. "How about seasoned travel expert and specialist in small engine repair . Did you clean the kitchen yourself? Boom. Experienced household management . Perhaps do not list interior decorating as a skill." She gestured at a poster of a girl in a very low-cut shirt serving beers.

Logan laughed, the way Tabby was hoping he would. "It's a…um… a friend's place. I sublet it on short notice."

"I hope you got a good deal," Tabby said, before she could stop herself.

"Thank you," Logan said, and Tabby realized that she hadn't actually stopped petting his arm when she tried to. He was very warm, and his look of amusement sobered until he was looking at her very intently, with the deepest, darkest eyes she'd ever seen. "Thank you, Tabby."

Tabby's hand froze as she realized what was wrong with his statement. "I didn't tell you my name."

Logan wasn't nearly the con man that his cousin Clancy was, and his face went from smoldering to panic in the space of just a breath.

Tabby cut him off when he started to sputter. "Did Clancy tell you who I was? The two of you are super estranged , I see. Is this some new kind of con? You ran out of identical horses and found a cute kid to play with my heartstrings? I haven't got any more money for you to steal." Something horrifying occurred to her. "Did you kidnap her? Are you keeping her for ransom?"

Her voice had raised as she backed away from Logan back into the living room. Should she cry for help? Call the police? She groped in her pocket for her phone.

"Wait!" Logan cried, following her out of the kitchen. "It's not like that! Hold on!" He reached for Tabby and she panicked, aborting her search for her phone and reaching for any weapon at hand. There were no handy swords on the walls, but Tabby snatched up the chair, hitting the table and knocking the play food everywhere.

The girl on the couch jerked awake at their noise, gave an unholy wail of surprise and fear, struggled out of her blanket, and fell off the couch.

Tabby thought fleetingly of snatching up the girl and escaping the apartment, and then the little girl seemed to shiver in space, stretching into a long-legged foal.

The chair fell from Tabby's nerveless fingers and landed on her foot.