Someone to Watch Over Me

She opened her eyes and raised them ever so slightly. If Gabe thought he’d been stabbed through the heart when they’d first met, seeing the pain-filled expression in her dark eyes this time was far worse. Her pain had risen to the surface and was stark and immediate.

Moments later, he realized her fingers were flexing almost madly in the woolly coat of the lamb she’d been trying to feed. The limp body of a now-dead lamb.

“Oh, Isabella,” Gabe murmured as he tried to remove the lifeless animal from her arms. “It’s not your fault. You did your best to save him.”

She snatched her hands back so fast, Gabe was left grasping air. Still without words, Isabella cradled the creature to her breast and began a distraught keening. It was a tortured, gut-wrenching sound. Gabe didn’t know how in God’s name to help her.

Instinct said that someone who hurt this badly needed holding. Considering the distance she always maintained between them, Gabe didn’t know if he should be the one to offer comfort. But right now there was no one else.

He wrapped her and the lamb in a gentle embrace. And he rocked her from side to side, crooning nonsensical words close to her ear, just loud enough for her to hear him over the sound of her distress.

She shivered violently, yet he knew it was warm enough in the barn to have dried his wet clothing. Clearly, Isabella’s coldness came from deep inside her. From the very depths of her soul.

Dear Reader,

As has so often been the case with the books I write, Gabe and Isabella’s story began with a news article I cut out a few years ago and stored in my files. Some articles cry out for a happy ending. If there can be happiness (and there should!) for good people who have bad things happen to them, then it should come in the form of a love like Gabe Poston’s. (You may remember meeting him in Wide Open Spaces.)

I selected Isabella Navarro to be the recipient of a tragedy no woman should ever have to endure. To ease her heavy burden, I gave her Gabe’s love; for good measure, I tossed in a large, loving family—part of a tight-knit Basque farming community in eastern Oregon.

Everyone should have the privilege of attending a Basque wedding. There’s lots of great food and wine, dancing and laughter, and it goes on for days. The memories have stayed with me. Yet even with such delightful events to offset Isabella’s sadness, I discovered this wasn’t an easy story to write. So I hope you’ll think I’ve done right by her and also by Gabe. I finally felt comfortable leaving them in each other’s care.

Sincerely,

Roz Denny Fox

P.S. I enjoy hearing from readers. You can get in touch with me at P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731 or via e-mail (rdfox@worldnet.att.net).

Someone to Watch Over Me

Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

AS WEDDING RECEPTIONS WENT, Gabe Poston rated Colt and Summer Quinn’s better than most. Held outside on a large covered patio, this gathering at least didn’t leave him feeling strangled for air. But after a gazillion introductions to people he’d probably never see again, Gabe was still desperate to escape for a while.

He carried his dirty plate into the kitchen, where caterers were too busy keeping food platters generously filled to care that one guest had slipped out the back door of the Forked Lightning Ranch house.

Hands tucked deep into his suit pants pockets, Gabe set out along a winding graveled road that led past a series of fenced pastures. He paused at a point where two fences intersected and propped the toe of one spit-polished black dress shoe onto the bottom rail. Preoccupied with his thoughts, it took him a while to appreciate the solitude and the scenery. A distant, purple mountain range, whose peaks were dusted gold in the warm spring sun, eventually had the calming effect he’d been seeking.

To better appreciate the panorama spread before him, Gabe removed the wire-rimmed glasses he needed only for reading. When, he wondered, pocketing his glasses, had he started craving seclusion?

And why? He used to want people around.

But apparently he hadn’t been totally successful in leaving the party behind. Raucous voices and high-pitched laughter reached him on a sighing breeze. Or had he sighed—again? Gabe had caught himself doing a lot of that in the past few weeks.

As if anyone gave a damn. Certainly not the livestock munching contentedly on the lush green grass. Gabe’s personal strife had no effect on Colt’s new crop of Morgan horses. They frolicked across the pasture and on the other side of the fence Summer’s curly-coated Belted Galloway calves did the same.

Lucky beasts. They lived the good life.

Ha! Most people would say Gabe Poston lived the good life.

Out here, communing with nature, he was able to admit that his odd melancholy could have something to do with turning thirty-eight yesterday, rather than the fact that Colt had opted out of SOS to marry the woman of his dreams.

No, Gabe didn’t begrudge Colt his happiness.

Breaking off a piece of tall grass, Gabe stuck it between his teeth. His fortieth birthday breathing down his neck wouldn’t bother him at all if Colt’s marriage was the only sign of the old gang breaking up. But two other members of the original “fearless foursome,” who’d forged ties in the Marine Corps, announced that they were also cutting loose from SOS, the land conservation agency where Gabe had found them all lucrative jobs. Save Open Spaces had provided Marc Kenyon, Reggie Mossberger and Gabe with a much-needed haven after a private rescue operation went bad. One that ended with Colt’s capture by South American rebels.

Gabe knew that incident had hit him harder than it did Marc or Reggie. After all, it’d been his bright idea to leave the Corps and sell their services in the private sector. The money offered to liberate kidnapped corporate travelers promised to make them millionaires. Shoot, it had made them millionaires. Except for Colt. He’d sunk every last cent into a horse ranch that his first wife had sold out from under him during the time he was held captive.

What a debacle that was. Although…back then they’d all feared Colt was a goner. None more than Gabe. Life sure could change in the blink of an eye. But Colt had escaped, and now he’d found real love with Summer.

Money didn’t seem so important to any of them now. Not like it did when they were young and thought cash was a cure-all for everything.

Personally, Gabe had invested enough to let him do just about anything a man might dream of doing. If only he had a clue as to what that might be…

Maybe that was what bugged him. His buddies had their lives mapped out. Not so long ago, they’d all been footloose and loving it. Now, three of the four had announced plans to abandon SOS. According to Marc, they’d gone into nesting mode.

What the hell was nesting mode?

Oh, Gabe knew, but he didn’t really understand it.

Tossing aside the piece of grass, he rested his chin on fists propped on the top rail. The view out here sparked an odd longing inside him and he acknowledged an emptiness he hadn’t stopped to examine in years.

Clearly, Colt had found his dream here in Eastern Oregon with Summer and her son, Rory. Love. Colt said he’d found true love. True and love rarely went hand in hand in Gabe’s estimation.

Loving your work, now that concept he understood.

Last week, when Reggie Mossberger phoned to say he was leaving SOS, his reason made sense. Moss had worked his butt off to finish veterinary school. It’d been a dream that had driven him to come out of the Corps alive.

Gabe had barely digested Reggie’s news when Marc called to say he’d met someone special on his last trip to Utah—a woman he wasn’t anxious to leave for months at a time as his job with SOS demanded. Add that to Colt’s defection and it left Gabe working alone for Marley Jones. In all honesty, he didn’t want to be the only guy on the team.

A shadow blocked the sun, breaking his concentration. A flash of blue caused him to raise his head.

It was a woman, hurrying toward an area where wedding guests had parked. Gabe idly followed her progress and saw her open the back door of an aging white van. He realized then that he’d seen her earlier, navigating the crowded patio with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Something in the way she walked grabbed a man’s attention.

Classy was a description that came to mind. It probably had to do with the way she carried her tall, willowy body. She sort of…floated. That must have been what caught his eye, since he hadn’t really seen her face.

Or maybe the way she wore her gleaming dark hair contributed to his first impression. So black it appeared almost indigo, and silky in the afternoon sun, her hair was parted in the middle with the sides scooped up into a complicated crown of braids. Gabe couldn’t recall ever having noticed before how any woman arranged her hair.

Staring, he imagined the dark tresses flying loose and wild in the wind. How dumb was that? She didn’t have so much as a hair out of place, even though she’d obviously been dashing in and out of a hot kitchen all afternoon.

Indulging in a long second glance, Gabe saw that outside of her incredible hair she was largely unremarkable. Most of her blue dress was covered by a white bibbed apron. Less-than-attractive shoes were undoubtedly comfortable but not in the least flattering. And compared to the gauzy spring dresses worn by most of the female wedding guests, her attire would be termed drab.

Not by him, though. The woman had…something Gabe couldn’t quite put his finger on. As he continued his perusal, he saw her slide a large board holding a four-tiered cake out from the cavernous interior of the van.

Surely she wasn’t going to try and carry that? He lifted his foot from the fence but he hadn’t gone two steps in her direction when he saw Reggie ambling down the path. So were two women and three brawny cowboy-types who soon overtook Reggie. Those five made a beeline for the white van. One man in the quintet shouted, “Wait! We’ve come to help carry the cake.”

Gabe checked his forward motion in time to see the cowboys take up posts on either side and behind the cake board. They retraced their steps while their female companions, plus the black-haired woman, began hauling cases of champagne out the van’s side door. They wasted no time following the cowboys with the cake. It was obvious they’d all reach Reggie long before Gabe got to the van.

Still compelled to offer assistance, he called to the last of the three women. “Is there anything else you need carried? If so, my friend and I have brawn to spare.” Laughing, Gabe jerked a thumb toward Reggie. He’d stepped aside to let the men lugging the heavy cake pass.

“Moss, don’t stand there like a statue. Help the lady with those bottles.”

Lean, lanky Reggie Mossberger had probably never moved quickly in his entire life. Nor did he now. He managed a U-turn at a snail’s pace—or so it seemed to Gabe.

The caterer, focused on the fate of her cake, cast a furtive glance at Gabe before turning to Reggie, who was closest. “I’m, uh, fine. But thank you,” she said in a dark, smoky voice that affected the pit of Gabe’s stomach.

“Really, I’ve got things under control,” she reiterated, as Reggie tried to take the box. “There’s nothing left in the van. But…if one of you gentlemen could close the side door, I’d appreciate it.” Without waiting to see if either did as she asked, she walked away from them.

Stopping, Gabe swore under his breath. The woman’s eyes, darker than coffee, lacked so much as a tiny spark of life. Gabe frowned. He’d seen such eyes before—in the hopeless, vacant stares of children in third world countries. For a moment he felt knocked off stride.

“Help. Don’t help.” Throwing up his hands, Reggie swung around to face Gabe, who, being nearer the van, jogged back to comply with the woman’s request. As he slid the door shut, he took a moment to read the hand-painted logo sprawled across the side of the vehicle.

Isabella’s Bakery, written in flowery script, curved around the silhouette of a birthday cake topped with a firestorm of lit candles. A local phone number and address were neatly stenciled below that.

Obviously it was where his sad goddess worked. Gabe donned his glasses for a closer inspection. Below, in smaller script, it said the bakery provided full-service catering for all parties and weddings, with their specialty being authentic Basque foods.

Straightening, Gabe turned that over in his mind. During his military travels, he recalled having eaten at a Basque restaurant in the Pyrenees region of Spain. Great food. The Basques were a proud, independent people, if he remembered correctly.

“Who was that?” Reggie spoke from directly behind Gabe.

“I don’t know.” Gabe straightened slowly. “She’s obviously part of the catering crew handling Summer and Colt’s reception.”

“Oh. So why are you out here messing in her affairs? Marc and Trace have been hunting you for half an hour. The babelicious blonde—the one who’s been dogging you all day, said you’d bolted out the back door. Dang, Gabe, what would possess you to run out on such a hot babe?”

Gabe scowled. “If you’re referring to Megan Ward, who waits tables at the Green Willow Café, half the reason I ducked out was to dodge her.”

“No way! Not unless old age is making you go blind.” Jabbing Gabe with his elbow, Reggie threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, so I’m old because you and I don’t agree some woman’s a babe?”

“Yeah. Used to be the four of us could walk into any bar and we’d all zero in on the hottest babe in the whole place.”

“In the old days, you and Colt only had eyes for a sound horse. And Marc was usually too busy polishing whatever car he’d blown his money on to know women existed. In case it’s skipped your pea brain, Colt’s the one getting hitched for the second time. And Marc’s sounding alarmingly serious about some woman named Lizzy down in Utah. Which leaves you, my friend. Because I’m damn sure not in the market for a woman.” Gabe stabbed a thumb at his own vest. “If you’d like an introduction to Megan Ward, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

Reggie stared longingly at the crowd milling around the patio they were approaching. “Can’t. I’ve sunk every cent I have or will have for the next five years into buying out a vet in a dinky Idaho town. As well as being stone broke, I have nothing to offer a woman like Megan. Or any woman, for that matter.”

“Did you take a good look at the main street when you and Marc hauled into Callanton? Post office, general store, café, a boarding stable, two bars and a motel. Oh, and a professional building that houses a lawyer and two people docs. Megan said she’s lived here all her life, so she must like small towns.”

Hooking his thumbs over his belt, Reggie slowed his pace even more. “This conversation is pointless. Anyway, I came out to drag you inside. Colt and Summer are almost ready to cut their cake. Tracey’s been tapped to deliver a toast. He wants your help writing something. The kid said if he’d known he’d have to make a speech, he never would’ve agreed to be Coltrane’s best man.”

Both men grinned at that truth—each privately thankful it was Tracey stuck with the chore, and not them.

A visibly nervous best man grabbed Gabe the minute he set foot on the brick patio. “Did Moss tell you I need your brain, Gabriel? I’ve never been a best man before.”

Gabe smiled crookedly. “What makes you think I can help? I do my best to avoid getting roped into attending weddings.”

“C’mon, you’re a lawyer. Everybody knows lawyers have silver tongues.”

“I’m an accountant who happens to have a second degree in finance law, kid.”

“Yeah, and I’m a wrangler, not a kid. I also quit college after one semester. Give me a break here, will you?”

“Okay, okay. For Pete’s sake, get up off your knees. Everybody’s staring.” Gabe awkwardly yanked the young man—who topped his own six-foot height by several inches—to his feet.

Smirking in satisfaction, Tracey whipped a pen and crumpled envelope from the inside pocket of the short tux jacket he’d teamed with well-pressed jeans.

Gabe snatched the items. “Give me those. Folks who are being asked to hold off drinking their bubbly like toasts to be short and sweet. How about you say, ‘Here’s to Summer and Coltrane, who rose from the ashes of their pasts and now stand ready to embrace whatever new opportunities lie ahead.’”

“That’s it?” Tracey gaped at Gabe, then at the single sentence written on the envelope Gabe had thrust back into his hand. “I stewed for an hour and I’ve only gotta say one line?”

Gabe clicked the pen again. “Here, I can stretch it to a paragraph or two if you’d rather. You never said you wanted ten minutes center stage.”

Tracey ripped the pen from Gabe’s hand. “Funny! Blow it out your ear, Poston.” Backing up, Tracey almost upset a tray of full champagne glasses carried by a woman wending her way among the guests.

“Oh, gosh. Sorry.” He righted the tray, then shifted the pen and envelope to one hand in order to relieve her of two glasses. Trace passed one flute to Gabe with a flourish. “Thanks a bunch. You know good and well you saved my sorry ass.”

Chuckling, Gabe accepted the champagne. He couldn’t help wishing the tray-bearer had been the dark-haired caterer. Then he’d have leapt to her rescue.

Shocked by that revelation, Gabe almost drained the beverage he should have saved for the toast. Lowering his glass abruptly, he swept a furtive glance around the room in search of the woman. She was at the front table, preparing Colt and Summer for the cake-cutting ceremony.

As Tracey was summoned from that same table, Gabe fell in at his heels, his primary objective being to get a second look at the caterer. Maybe he’d only imagined her somber eyes.

Perky blond Megan Ward broke away from her circle and took Gabe’s arm in a light yet oddly possessive manner. “Hey, hi there again. Did your friend find you? A tall guy with really short, sandy hair?” Megan said when Gabe ground to a halt and stared at her blankly. “I don’t know his name,” she admitted. “Gina worked the bar last night at Colt’s bachelor party. She said the Ichabod character came and left with you and Marc. He’s the one Gina’s been drooling over these last two days.”

“Ichabod?”

“No, silly, Marc. Gina’s hot for Marc Kenyon.”

Normally quicker on the uptake, Gabe could make little sense of Megan’s chatter. “Excuse me,” he said, pulling from her grasp. “I see Reggie in the cake line.” Gabe had to rise on tiptoe to locate Moss, even though his friend, at six-five, stood head and shoulders taller than all men at the party except for Tracey Jackson. Gabe hesitated after sinking back on his heels. “I’ll be happy to introduce you to Moss.”

“Who?” Megan blinked her big blue eyes.

“Reggie Mossberger. Tall guy standing behind Marc. Reggie said he’d like to meet you.” Gabe began elbowing a path through a crowd, which had again closed.

“But…but…why me?”

“Reggie’s kinda shy.”

“Pu…leese!” Megan snatched Gabe’s left wrist. “He’s the one Gina nicknamed Ichabod. As in Crane,” she said, stopping suddenly, thus checking Gabe’s forward momentum. “You know—because of the odd way he walks.” She broke off speaking in the wake of Gabe’s fierce glare. “Goodness, haven’t you heard a word I said? Gina’s interested in Marc Kenyon. He’s the hottie, not the other goofy guy.”

“Reggie limps because he took a butt full of shrapnel saving me and some other Marines in a firefight. I owe him my life,” Gabe said right before he left Megan standing openmouthed while he muscled his way to where his friends stood.

The bad thing about stopping to set Megan straight was the fact that the caterer he’d wanted to see again had disappeared by the time he reached the front row.

Marc clinked his glass lightly against Gabe’s. “Glad you hung around. Knowing your aversion to gigs like this, when I couldn’t find you, I figured you’d split.”

“Nope. I went outside for a last look at Quinn’s ranch.”

“This is country to die for, isn’t it? Old Colt’s done okay for somebody who, two years ago, didn’t care if he lived or died. So, Gabe, any idea where Marley’s sending you next?”

Gabe shook his head. “He’s not sure. Said he’s had several properties under review. But with the downturn in the economy, a lot of big contributors have pulled back on funding the program.”

“What about land conservation projects currently in the works? I promised to stay with SOS until we close on that Utah deal near Heber City.”

“So you’re really going to do it?”

Marc lowered his glass. “Do what?”

“Bail out on the team?”

“I don’t call it bailing out exactly.” Mark fiddled with his glass.

“What do you call it?” Gabe shot back.

“Look, Gabe, I thought I already explained myself. I’m tired of the gypsy life.”

“I know what you said. It’s just…all so sudden. First Colt. Then Moss, and now you. Hell, you guys are like family. The only family I’ve got,” he said gruffly.

Reggie broke into their conversation. “The house that comes with the veterinary practice I bought in Idaho needs sprucing up. But it’s got two passable bedrooms and a bath with hot and cold running water.” He offered a shrug and a toothy grin. “Might do you good to take out your frustration with hammer and nails. What do you say, Gabe? The invitation’s on the table for an extended visit.”

“Thanks, but I work with my head. I’m not so good with my hands.”

Marc unleashed a belly laugh that drew some attention. “That’s not the word we used to get from your dates, Gabriel, old friend.”

Gabe socked him on the shoulder.

“Hey, pipe down.” Reggie nudged them both. “Colt and Summer are about to smash cake in each other’s faces. Trace is gonna do his thing. Then we can get to the good part. Eating cake and drinking this high-octane stuff,” he said, wagging his glass.

Gabe craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive caterer. He saw another woman, similarly dressed, topping off champagne glasses. The woman with the braided hair seemed to have vanished. Gabe hoped she hadn’t left the party. Releasing the breath he’d been holding, he massaged the back of his neck. Something must be wrong with him to be mooning over some woman he’d never even met.

The newlyweds went to stand behind the tiered cake. The local sheriff and a rancher Gabe had met the last time he was in town were doing a bang-up job of heckling the couple. His mission then had been on behalf of Save Open Spaces. Through their efforts, Summer had not been forced to sell this historic ranch to a crooked developer commissioned by her equally unscrupulous ex-husband.

The three friends fell silent. But it meant everything when Colt’s roving gaze sought each of them out. He smiled and mouthed semper fi. A hole opened in Gabe’s chest again. Damn, he was going to miss these guys. Marc might’ve figured he was kidding, calling them family. But the unvarnished truth was that no one else on earth gave a damn about Gabe Poston.

Not a soul since he was twelve, anyway. That terrible morning in Texas when his mom’s body washed up in Baytown on the shores of Galveston Bay. All the neighbors whispered she’d have died anyway. Shooting heroin off a dirty needle killed her, some said. Russ Poston, a long-haul trucker, claimed he couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t, raise a kid he’d never believed was his. Gabe’s grandparents backed their son’s claim. And his mother’s folks lived hand-to-mouth on public assistance. They couldn’t afford to feed the eight kids they’d already produced, let alone take on another. In a blink he was made a ward of the Houston court.