“Isabella? Are you okay?”

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.

But Gabe had always been good at taking care of himself. Or so he thought, until at seventeen he ran afoul of the law and a cop invited him to join the Marines or spend more than four years behind bars. He’d made the wisest choice, it turned out.

So what in heaven’s name was wrong with him now?

Blinking to clear a vision gone cloudy, Gabe did his best to work up enthusiasm for watching Summer and Colt trade promises along with bites of cake. He raised his glass with everyone else. He even prompted Trace when he stumbled and got flustered during his one-line toast.

The icy champagne tasted good going down, but Gabe declined a second topping off of his glass. After setting his empty flute on one of the trays situated around the patio, he let himself be swept forward with the boisterous crowd, all bent on hugging and back-slapping the happy couple. Gabe attempted to veer off the moment he saw that the caterer with the haunted eyes had returned to finish cutting the cake. But the other revelers were too determined, and Gabe soon found himself pressed into a corner with the blushing bride.

“Gabe, hi.” Summer inched farther backward, letting Gabe’s broad shoulders conceal her from the crush of well-wishers. “Hey, block for me a minute, will you, please? I’ve been hugged so many times my ribs are all but cracked. Just until I catch my breath,” she added, holding Gabe in place.

“No problem. Especially as you’re just the person to answer a question for me.”

“You have a question?” Summer smiled. “Colt calls you the answer man.”

“Afraid I’m out of my depth on this one. See the woman cutting your cake? Who is she?” Gabe spoke in a rush because he was bumped from behind.

Summer dipped her head to look beneath the arm he’d anchored to the wall. “Izzy, you mean? Isabella Navarro.” Summer straightened, lowered her voice and frowned at Gabe. “We’ve got a large Basque population living east of Callanton. She’s from their community.”

Gabe didn’t say anything. He made it obvious that he was waiting for more information.

Summer grudgingly gave a little. “Granted, Izzy’s beautiful, talented and about as nice a person as you’d ever hope to meet. She’s also in the midst of a horrible personal tragedy, Gabe. I’ll gladly introduce you to any other of the unattached females at our reception, since you seem to be put off by Megan. Oh, look—over near the grape arbor. It’s Maggie Fitzgerald and Dawn Cunningham.” Summer physically turned Gabe’s head in the direction she wanted him to look.

He couldn’t pretend interest in either the flashy redhead or the petite brunette who chatted with Jesse Cook, owner of the Broken Arrow Ranch. Gabe had met Jesse weeks ago and liked what he’d seen of Summer’s nearest neighbor.

“Tell me more about Isabella,” he murmured, returning his gaze to the cake table.

Summer pursed her lips, first studying Gabe, then slanting a worried glance toward her friend.

Colt Quinn elbowed his way into their corner and slipped an arm possessively around his wife. “Go find your own woman, Poston. This one’s mine.” Bending, Colt pressed a kiss on Summer’s mouth. As their kiss ended, Colt started to move Summer out of the corner.

“Hey, hold on.” Gabe caught at her lacy sleeve. “I’m serious about wanting to know why a beautiful woman has such soulless eyes.”

Summer’s voice dropped even lower. “I’ll tell you because you’re Colt’s best friend. But Izzy’s my good friend, too, so listen up and then forget about this fascination you have with her, okay?” Clearing her throat, Summer said tightly, “Ten months ago, not long after she won a bitter divorce, Izzy got home late from work to find her ex in her garage—sitting in his car with the motor running.”

Gabe shifted uncomfortably. “God,” he exclaimed. “You’re telling me the SOB killed himself at her place?”

Summer squeezed Gabe’s forearm. “Julian Arana was unconscious but alive. The same wasn’t true of their two beautiful kids. Five-year-old Antonia and three-year-old Ramon died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Izzy…well, she’s making it through day by day.”

Gabe’s body jerked spasmodically. The champagne he’d just downed threatened to come up again. Of all the scenarios he’d conjured up after glimpsing the woman’s eyes, none compared to the horrible truth.

Colt Quinn wrapped his wife in the protective shelter of his arms. “I know that’s why you gave Isabella our catering contract instead of going to the Green Willow like your family always did. But, honey, this isn’t good wedding conversation.” He glared at Gabe.

Gabe immediately backed off. “You’ve gotta believe that if I’d had any idea, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. Go on you two, enjoy what’s left of your big day.”

“Are you sticking around a while?” Colt clapped Gabe on the shoulder. “Marc and Moss are taking off for the airport within the next hour to catch their commuter flights. We’ve said our goodbyes. You drove, I know. I saw your Lexus SUV outside.”

“I haven’t decided exactly when I’ll check out of the Inn. They’re still skiing at Sun Valley, and I’ve leased out my condo until the season ends. Maybe I’ll stay here a week or so and see if Marley wants me to close on Marc’s Utah project.”

“Great. You guys aren’t all taking off on us at once,” Summer said. “Promise you’ll come to the ranch for dinner one night before you go. Coltrane, call him tomorrow and set a date. Oh, excuse me, please. I see Rory helping himself to a second piece of cake. That little scoundrel will be sick as a dog tonight if I don’t call a halt.” She left her husband’s arms to dash off and intercept her son.

Colt had difficulty taking his eyes off her as she threaded her way through the guests, who stood in small groups, talking and eating cake.

Gabe experienced a vague surge of envy as Colt finally stirred.

“You’ve been awfully tight-lipped about any plans you might have if Marley’s source of funds for the agency dries up. You got something cooking on a back burner, Gabe?”

Gabe shook his head.

“Callanton needs a good accountant. Or, hell, if you can hang on for a year, Summer and I will hire you to handle the Forked Lightning accounts exclusively. We’ve already talked it over. We just can’t swing it this year.”

“In other words, I’m not the only one having a hard time watching the old gang scatter?”

Colt gave a short laugh. “Dumb, isn’t it? Four grown men like us. It’s not as if we don’t all have the means to visit one another, no matter where in the world we decide to sink roots.”

“We all have the means, but will we make the time?” Gabe shrugged.

“You’ve nailed what’s been bothering me. Ranching’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-five-day-a-year job. I kinda figure being a vet’s the same. And who knows about Marc? He said Lizzy’s dad owns three car dealerships, and the old boy’s planning to retire. You know how crazy Marc’s always been about cars. I can see him practically living at a dealership, can’t you?”

“Yeah. Haven’t we been friends too long to lose touch now? Go enjoy your party, Coltrane. I’m gonna nab me a slice of that cake before it’s all gone.”

“Uh, Gabe. I couldn’t help noticing that you’re still zeroed in on Summer’s friend. Whatever’s on your mind, it’s probably a bad idea.”

Gabe glanced away, trying to hide his guilt. “I don’t know what you’re implying. Cake. That’s all I’m after.” He spun and walked off.

As he picked up an empty plate, Gabe tried putting himself in Isabella’s shoes. But his mind refused, and his gut churned. How could a person go on?

Damn, he’d always wanted kids someday. Gabe knew firsthand how fast life went to hell when a child lost his parents. He couldn’t begin to fathom what it’d be like for a parent to lose two kids. He’d studied law, but it didn’t take a law degree to determine that Isabella Navarro’s ex was seriously wacko. Too bad the SOB didn’t die with his kids.

Approaching Isabella gingerly, Gabe extended his plate for a piece of cake. He had no idea what, if anything, to say to her. Something innocuous, he decided, smiling automatically as she looked up. “I closed your van like you asked,” he blurted. “That was me in the parking lot. Remember? I suggested my friend and I help you carry the champagne?” Gabe hiked a thumb over his right shoulder to where Reggie and Marc were moving inside with the crowd.

The caterer paled as she set a wedge of cake in the exact middle of his plate.

“The name’s Gabe. Gabe Poston. I’m a friend of the groom. I watched you unload this cake from your van and I thought it was too pretty to eat.” Lifting a fork to his mouth, Gabe raised his eyes to hers. “Um. I was wrong. Tastes great. All the food did. Tasted good, I mean.”

Isabella inclined her head in deference to his compliment.

Gabe knew he should let it go at that and move on. But again the deep shadows in her eyes wrenched his heart. “I’ll bet it’s not easy handling a party of this size. You made it look simple, though.”

ISABELLA NAVARRO REFOCUSED and really looked at the handsome stranger who devoured his cake while trying to draw her into conversation. She couldn’t admit she’d performed her services here today by rote. Work took her mind off…other things. She’d accepted this job for the money. She’d need extra to get her through the time she’d have to take off once Julian’s trial began. Her brain rarely moved past that point. And she needed to keep her attention—all her attention—on that goal. Too many people thought Julian had simply gone off the deep end. Even the media implied he was insane.

She knew better. And someone had to be an advocate for her kids. Isabella intended to see her bastard of an ex-husband held accountable for his actions. She wasn’t letting anything get in her way.

Yet here was this poor man. A virtual stranger who obviously didn’t know he was hitting on a woman whose heart had turned to granite. Isabella couldn’t find the words to break it to him, either. Not without crying. And she wouldn’t. Cry. Not one tear until her mission was accomplished.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MAN’S EYES BORED straight through Isabella, leaving her feeling exposed. The hand holding the cake knife faltered. Why was such a knockout guy attempting to engage her in conversation? The self-proclaimed friend of Colt Quinn’s wore an impeccable gray pinstriped suit, which brought out gray flecks in otherwise lake-blue eyes.

Isabella stood five-nine without shoes. She had to look up to meet Gabe Poston’s eyes. That made him as tall as her brothers, all of whom were over six feet. Poston’s healthy tan spoke of someone who worked out of doors, especially as his light brown hair was also sun-streaked. Yet his hands told a different story.

The men in Isabella’s family—her dad, three brothers and two brothers-in-law—all carved a living from the land. Their occupations ranged from apple farmers to grape growers to sheep men, which meant that their knuckles were permanently scarred and chapped. She loved them all dearly, but she couldn’t help noticing that not one ever had fingernails as clean as the man standing across from her now. Men who looked like Gabe Poston passed through Callanton, but they never stuck around.

That at least came as a relief.

So, the larger issue that loomed on the horizon, beyond his fine physical attributes, was why he’d singled her out. Especially when Summer had invited a score of eligible searching-for-a-mate females to her reception.

She could only assume he hadn’t heard about her. Even folks Isabella had known most of her life avoided speaking directly to her now. Not because they were uncaring but because they didn’t know what to say. Truthfully, what could anyone say?

But this stranger not only spoke, he looked her squarely in the eye and forced her to pay attention. Now that she had, surely he’d see her utter misery, and he’d leave her alone with her pain—like everyone did. Like she wanted them all to do.

Isabella hurt down into the deepest parts of her soul, and she needed to feel every ounce of that rawness. Otherwise she might not have the strength to continue the fight to put Julian Arana behind bars for the rest of his natural life. That was all she lived for. Julian’s lawyer bragged that he’d won a huge victory when the judge ruled out asking for the death penalty. Only the state’s prosecutor and Isabella’s family knew she’d never favored putting Julian to death. Death was too easy an out for a person who had committed his sin.

Her hands shook harder and her stomach knotted just thinking about Julian and the case. Either Poston had no sensitivity, or he was simply the oblivious sort. For whatever reason, he was still smiling at her. A disconcerting smile that revealed tiny laugh lines around his eyes.

“I seem to be your last customer.” Gabe gestured with his cake plate. “The other guests have all gone inside. Presumably to dance. At least I hear the combo that arrived a while ago tuning up their instruments. They have a nice sound, don’t you think?”

Isabella hadn’t seen or heard a band. Of course, she’d ignored everything going on around her except when it pertained to her catering duties. But it was clear that if she didn’t say something, this guy would pester her all evening. “Feel free to take your plate inside. There are TV trays for empties set up near the dance floor.”

Gabe averted his eyes long enough to study the profusion of plates and glasses left strewn about the patio. “Give me a second to finish this, and I’ll help you clean up the mess out here.” He gestured with his plate.

“I…ah…” His offer stunned Isabella. Yet she hated the blush she felt creeping up her neck. Finally, she summoned a grouchy tone. “I have a clean-up crew. You, sir, are a guest.”

“I’m a friend—”

“—of the groom. I know. You already said that. Oh, look. Here are my helpers now.” Isabella cast a relieved glance over Gabe’s right shoulder.

Turning, he saw the two women who’d helped carry champagne in from the parking lot. Both were shaking out large empty trash bags. “Those bags will be heavy once they’re full. Where are the cowboys who carried in the cake for you? You seem to have lost them.”

“Cowboys?” Isabella frowned slightly. “Oh, you must mean my brothers. They went home. They aren’t part of my crew. They’re ranchers.”

“So, they only came to carry in the cake?”

Isabella sighed. Apparently Gabe Poston was a talker. “Most wedding receptions I cater are in town, which means I can slide the cake board out onto a cart and wheel it inside whatever hall the bride’s rented. Logistics here at the Forked Lightning necessitated a change in my usual routine. Really, thank you for offering, but my sisters and I have everything under control.” Closing down again, Isabella set the cake knife aside, then deftly skirted the table, and joined the two women.

Taking time to scrutinize their features, Gabe did see a vague family resemblance. But he thought she was by far the most attractive of the three. If not for eyes filled with pain and shadows, he’d call her beautiful.

Gabe continued to eye the trio while he finished his cake. As he forked up the last bite, he suddenly saw two of the women returning his frank stare. It took a minute for him to tumble to the fact that he was being discussed by them.

He strained to hear but couldn’t make out what they were saying, as they weren’t speaking English. He knew Basques didn’t speak Spanish, although a word or two sounded familiar. Caliente meant hot, didn’t it? This didn’t seem to be a reference to the weather, however, since it wasn’t hot on the patio. The late-spring sun had already dipped behind the mountains and a stepped-up breeze seemed downright chilly. Probably why Summer and Colt had planned to have the dancing inside.

Gabe considered edging closer to the sisters in hopes of deciphering more of their conversation, only Marc Kenyon opened the screen door leading from the house and called out, “Yo, Gabe! Moss and I need to get back to the Inn to collect our bags. If you’d rather stay and dance, Tracey said he’d drive us to town, then on to the airport.”

“I’ll take you. Who knows when I’ll see you two again.” Backtracking to the cake table, Gabe set his empty plate atop a stack of others.

Marc moved out onto the patio and peered around. “Why are you out here all by your lonesome? I swear, Gabriel, you’ve been acting weird all weekend.”

“Is it weird to eat cake like a civilized human being instead of swallowing a chunk whole like you guys did?”

“So now your friends aren’t civilized.” Marc grabbed Gabe and knuckle-rubbed his head as he dragged him inside via the sliding glass door.

FROM THE PATIO, the three sisters watched the byplay. “Like I already asked you once, Bella, who’s the hot guy? The one wearing the gray suit.” Sylvia Oneida, Isabella’s twenty-nine-year-old sister, left off speaking in Euskera, the language of the Basques, to badger her in English. Most of the family called her Bella; friends were more prone to shorten her name to Izzy.

Trinidad Navarro, known to all as Trini, was twenty-five, and very involved in the local dating scene. She’d long since checked out all the single men at the reception. “According to Megan Ward, his name is Gabriel Poston. He was a Marine, along with Summer’s husband. And he’s an accountant plus lawyer. There’s speculation that he’s got a fat bank account. Oh, Megan also said hands off.”

“Trini,” Sylvia gasped. “It’s mercenary to care more about a man’s wealth than his personality.”

Isabella, who’d already begun scraping plates, paused with a plate held over the trash container. “Lawyer? What kind? Is he opening an office in Callanton? The prosecutor assigned to Julian’s case is too busy to answer my questions. I wouldn’t mind having someone I could retain to help me understand all the legal jargon.”

The younger sister, still pouting over the scolding she’d received, answered Bella nonetheless. “He and Marc Kenyon, the guy who just came and got him, both work for Save Open Spaces. That’s the agency Summer’s husband recently left. Oh, and there’s a third friend. Sylvia and I passed him on the road when we helped you carry in the champagne.” Trini gave a disgusted groan after a blank expression crossed her sister’s face. “Honestly, Bella, you’ve gotta snap out of it and start noticing what goes on around you.”

“Ignore Trini,” Sylvia said briskly. “She doesn’t mean to be callous. It’s another stage she’s going through, I think.”

“I am not.” Trini flung her arms around Isabella. “I’m sorry, Bella. We all loved Antonia and Ramon. I hate Julian for his selfish, heartless stupidity. I just can’t bear seeing you so…so consumed. I think the fact that a Rob Lowe look-alike singled you out is the perfect opportunity to get your mind off the tragedy. Even if it’s only for an hour or two.”

Isabella aimed an awkward pat at Trini’s back. “I know I’m not pleasant to be around. I hope you know I couldn’t have survived without my family. I want you to find a good man, one who’ll make you happy, Trini. But please don’t expect me to get on with any type of normal life until after I see the state lock up Julian and throw away the key.” Her voice caught, and pulling back, Isabella blinked dry eyes. She never understood why she couldn’t shed tears when she hurt clear to the very bottom of her soul.

Sylvia cast furtive glances at the door through which the men had disappeared. “He’s gone. Maybe for good, Bella. I heard the one who came to get him say something about an airport. At any rate, Trini isn’t going to mention his name again.” She shot a warning at the youngest member of the large Navarro clan.

It was well known that Trini had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Snatching up a garbage bag, she announced, “Gabriel Poston is a hunk. Furthermore, he smells yummy. It’s too bad our Bella caught his eye first. If he does hang around town, you can bet if I get an opportunity I’ll bring him home to meet Mama and Papa.”

As always—unless their oldest sister, Ruby, was around—Sylvia had to have the last word. “Who cares how he smells? You bring home a man who’s twelve or thirteen years older than you, some ordinary Joe Sixpack at that, and Mama will send you out to cut a willow switch that sings through the air like she did when we were kids who’d misbehaved.”

“Oh, your husband’s exalted just because he’s Basque? He grows grapes, makes wine and smells like yeast, for pity’s sake. Ruby’s husband and Papa come home smelling like sheep dip. Why shouldn’t I want a man in my bed who smells nice?”

“Our men are all good and hardworking. Papa never should’ve sent you off to college in California, Trini. You came home with the idea that you’re too good for any of our local boys.”

“Stop, you two.” Isabella stepped between them. “What if a guest hears us bickering? You know my business depends on word-of-mouth referrals.”

Bella’s sisters both wore guilty faces. Isabella gave each one a bracing hug. “Let Trini spread her wings, Syl. I know for a fact that being born Basque doesn’t guarantee a good man. If community pressures and expectations hadn’t been what they were, I might not have married Julian. I shouldn’t have married him.”

“Oh, Bella!” Sylvia’s brows drew down in distress.

“I’m not after sympathy, Sylvia. I hate the pity I see on people’s faces. If anything, that’s the one nice thing about Mr. Poston. He didn’t avert his eyes when he spoke to me.”

Audrey Olsen, Summer Marsh’s longtime housekeeper, poked her head out of the kitchen. “There you ladies are. I wanted to let you know I cleared a place in the freezer for the top layer of Summer and Colt’s cake. She insists they’re going to eat the stale thing on their first anniversary. Beats me why anybody would want year-old cake. Summer said you provide a special box, Isabella?” The last was more a question than a statement.

“A tin. It’s airtight.” Isabella left her sisters to make her way across the uneven brick. “Most brides save the smallest layer of their wedding cake to celebrate their first anniversary. I designed these tins to seal in as much freshness as possible.” She handed the older woman a silver canister trimmed with white wedding bells. Her bakery’s name was printed neatly on the side. The couple’s names adorned the top.

Audrey took the tin. “Well, isn’t this nice? I suppose Summer told you I offered to fix food for the reception. After seeing all the work, I’m so grateful she decided to hire you, Isabella. Land sakes, weddings are sure more involved now than in my day. Virgil and I just drove down to the county courthouse and said our I dos.”

“I cater anniversaries, too,” Isabella said casually. “Summer said you and Virgil have a fiftieth coming up in a few months.”

Audrey laughed. “I was fifteen when I set my sights on that man. The day I turned eighteen, I followed him out on a round-up. He’ll tell you he couldn’t shake me so he married me. We’ve stuck together all these years, but neither of us makes any to-do over anniversaries. They’re just days that come and go.”

“Fifty years living with the same man is something to crow over in my opinion.” Isabella eased a business card out of the pocket of her blue cotton dress. “I can go simple for family and a few close friends, or hog-wild feeding half the town like we did today. Thanks to good friends like Summer, my weeks are getting booked fairly fast, so if you change your mind, phone me next week. I promise I’ll work up something that won’t threaten Virgil’s masculinity.”

Audrey grinned and read the card in her hand before sliding it into the pocket of her slacks. “You’d better start eating some of the goodies you fix, Izzy. Goodness, girl, you’re wasting away.”

Isabella raised an unsteady hand to rub her throat. She found it almost impossible to make herself eat, ever since her children’s deaths. And now she couldn’t force a response past the lump that seemed to stay lodged in her throat. When would the mere thought of losing Toni and Ramon quit causing her problems with swallowing and breathing? Molly, her psychiatrist, said it would eventually ease.

“Oh, darlin’. Shut my mouth. I didn’t mean to remind you…of…” Audrey clamped her lips closed. “I, uh, maybe I will throw a little party to commemorate fifty years with that old buzzard.” Outwardly flustered, she hurriedly withdrew into the kitchen again.

Isabella felt bad. She drove people away. And that hurt, too. But she couldn’t help it. Molly said the mind was an unpredictable thing.

As Isabella soberly went back to her work, she urged her mind down a different road. She tried to picture what her life would be like fifty years from now. She didn’t particularly like the vision she conjured up—a wizened, skeletal version of the unhappy woman who gazed back at her each day from the bathroom mirror. Trini was right. They were all right. She couldn’t go on as she was. But how could she not be the spokes-person for her silent children?

Her icy lips formed the mantra she began and ended each day with. “When I see Julian properly punished, I’ll worry about getting my life back.”

GABE SETTLED back into the soft leather seat of his luxury SUV and let Marc’s and Reggie’s endless talk swirl around him. They knew each other so well, Gabe could almost predict the path of their conversation. Reggie would talk for a while about the injured livestock he’d healed. Then Marc would jump in and expound on the virtues of the latest sports cars out on the market. Once they’d exhausted those subjects, their interest would undoubtedly veer toward women.

He grinned when their conversation did exactly that.

Moss, who’d changed from his suit into worn jeans and a short-sleeved plaid shirt, stretched his lanky frame across Gabe’s middle set of seats. “So, Marc. Are you really serious about tying yourself down to Lizzy Woodruff?”

Marc darted a quick glance at Gabe before he turned sideways in his seat to see both his friends. An oddly dreamy expression softened his pewter-gray eyes. “Lizzy’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“How do you know?” Gabe jerked his eyes off the road long enough to frown at Marc.

From the back, Moss guffawed. “You said it yourself, Gabe, when you pointed out that little Lizzy’s daddy owns a string of car dealerships.”

Marc bolted upright. “That’s a dog-faced lie! Granted, I met Lizzy at one of her dad’s dealerships, where I went to scope out a car. But cars have nothing to do with why I’m going back to Utah to take our relationship to the next level.”

“I’m serious, Marc,” Gabe said. “How do you know Lizzy’s the one and only?”

“How did Coltrane know Summer was it for him?”

“I have no idea.” Gabe smacked the steering wheel. “Especially since he bombed completely back when he married Monica.”

“Now, she was a piece of work,” Reggie said.

“Yeah. But I remember envying Colt back then. Hell, we all did.”

“Our priorities were different, I guess,” Marc muttered.

Mossberger jumped in again. “In the Corps, we had stuff to prove. But even then we had each other. When Colt married Monica, it was like we lost something.” He shook his head. “Before he was captured in that operation that went bad, we thought we were invincible. Suddenly we were ordinary. Men with shortcomings. That changed us.”

Marc’s brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “Jeez, Moss, you make us sound like a bunch of losers.”

Gabe sneaked a peek at Reggie in the rearview mirror. “I think Moss is trying to say that when we were faced with our own mortality, we woke up. On some level, we all knew Monica was a user. But tough guys like us were supposed to bag a trophy wife.”

“Yeah. Two by two is nature’s way. All God’s species come in pairs.”

“Spoken like a veterinarian,” Marc jeered. “This conversation’s getting too deep for me. Lizzy’s nothing like Monica. She works and she takes care of her grandmother. Best of all, she has a great sense of humor.”

Gabe grabbed Marc’s arm. “Wait. Maybe Moss is onto something. Guys usually get along when we hang out together. Once the pack breaks up and we’re shuffling around on our own, loneliness forces us to start searching for a mate. Someone to keep us company.”

“Marriage is about more than companionship,” Marc said. “Don’t either of you ever think about having kids?” he ventured hesitantly.

Leaning forward, Reggie planted his bony elbows on his knees. “I do. The old vet I trained under worked closely with the area elementary schools. He kept a petting zoo where city kids come to learn about animals. Some kids, well, they got to me, ya know? You guys’ll probably laugh me out of the car, but…I’ve been thinking about adopting. Not a baby. An older kid. I don’t have any prospects for a wife, but I ask myself, do I need a wife to make a home for a kid who has nothing and no one?”

Gabe tugged at his ear. “I’m not gonna laugh, Moss. Growing up, I kicked around the streets fighting hunger in my belly too often. After Russ Poston threw me out, a home like you’re talking about would’ve seemed like heaven.”

“Still, if you’d had your druthers,” Marc argued, “wouldn’t you have preferred having a mom and a dad? I sure want a kid of mine to have both.”

“Aha! So when’s the wedding?” Gabe drawled. At the same time Reggie whooped and said, “Is Lizzy pregnant?”

Marc turned bright red. “It’s not like that with us. She, uh, we aren’t sleeping together…yet,” Marc qualified, growing ever more crimson.

“Whoa! I believe our ol’ buddy is dead serious about this little gal.” Moss slumped again. “Man, before long I’m gonna be the only one of the fearsome foursome who’s still single.”

“When did I get booted out of the club?” Gabe asked.

“You think I didn’t see you making cow eyes at that babe today?”

“What babe?” Marc’s flush subsided and a gleam flickered in his eyes. “What’d I miss? Gabe’s yanking my chain over Lizzy when he’s hot for some Callanton babe?”

“It’s true,” Moss declared over Gabe’s vociferous denial. “You mean you didn’t see him stalking that tall, black-haired caterer with his tongue hanging out?”

“Keep it up, Reggie,” Gabe warned, “and you’ll be out on the roadside hitching your way to the airport.”

“I see! You can razz me, but your woman’s off limits? No fair! Give with the details, pal.” Marc wasn’t about to let it go.

Gabe clammed up as he curled his hands around the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road.

“She served us cake at the reception,” Reggie supplied for Marc’s benefit.

“I don’t remember even seeing her. You might’ve tipped me off,” Marc grumbled to Reggie. “So what’s her name?”

“You won’t drop this, will you?” Gabe blew out a stream of air, watching both men lean toward him. When they only continued to leer owlishly, he reluctantly supplied her name. “Isabella. Isabella Navarro.”

When nothing but silence followed his admission, Marc gave another nudge. “How long have you two been dating? Jeez, Gabe, talk about me working fast. Colt said you were in and out of Callanton in a matter of days when you closed the agency’s deal on Summer’s ranch.”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Gabe’s head snapped around. “I…find her…attractive, that’s all. She gave me the brush-off. Now enough’s enough.”

“So what’s wrong with her?” Reggie queried. “She engaged or something?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong.” Marc echoed. “Women never brush you off, Gabriel.”

“She has good reason, okay?” Stalling, Gabe finally capitulated, and in fits and starts relayed the awful thing Summer had told him.

“Holy shit!” Marc and Reggie chorused, their voices laced with horror.

“Exactly. So now you see why it’d be plain stupid for a guy to even try and get anything going with her.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna do it anyway?” Reggie shrugged. “Otherwise, you’d have packed your bag and come to Idaho with me.”

“Naw,” Marc insisted, frowning at Reggie. “Gabe’s got more brains than any of us. You’ll be driving back to Sun Valley tomorrow, right? To kick back and get in a little spring skiing before Marley needs you to close my deal in Utah.”

“Well…this is great country. Maybe I’ll hang here until Marley phones.”

Reggie smacked a hand down hard on the back of Gabe’s seat. “I knew it. You’re gonna make a play for the caterer.”

“Am not.”

“Are too,” Reggie shot back.

“No. But I may stay a few days. Maybe see what kind of ranch property’s come on the market since Coltrane thwarted those developers and arranged for SOS to save Summer’s ranch.” Gabe winced at what sounded like a lame excuse even to him.

Naturally, Reggie jumped right on his friend’s statement. “Hell, Gabe, you’re a banker. What do you know about ranch land? Or ranching, for that matter. I’ll bet you don’t even know which end of a horse to bridle.”

“I’m not a banker, you idiot. I’m an accountant.”

“Close enough. Shoot, I just can’t picture you mucking out stalls.”

“So? Land’s always a good investment.”

That statement seemed to appease Gabe’s friends for the time being. They moved on to talk of other things until Gabe parked at the small yet bustling airport.

Marc and Reggie were booked on the same flight to Boise. From there, each would go his separate way. With the new heightened security, sans luggage or a ticket, Gabe wasn’t allowed to accompany the men beyond the passenger terminal. As the three longtime friends prepared to part, it again became evident that their lives were changing. No one wanted to say what all were patently aware of—this might be a more lasting goodbye. All cleared their throats awkwardly.

It was Gabe who finally threw up his hands. “Hell,” he growled, dashing at a sheen of moisture in his eyes. “Moss, take care, buddy. And phone.”

“And you e-mail me. I wanna know where you end up if you decide to chuck the job with SOS.”

Marc punched Gabe’s upper arm in manly fashion, but he’d grown strangely quiet.

Gabe, always the leader, grabbed first Reggie, then Marc, and gave them fierce short hugs. “Kenyon, I’ll see your ugly mug whenever Marley transfers funds for me to deal on that Utah ranch. Plan on me taking you and Lizzy to dinner someplace nice.”

Not waiting for Marc’s response, Gabe jammed his hands in his pants pockets, lowered his head and stalked out into the inky night. Dammit, hadn’t he learned by the age of two that tears made a man weak?

Both Reggie and Marc stepped to the entrance and hollered after Gabe. He tossed off a backward wave and hustled out to his vehicle, fast. This felt like an ending. But of what? An era? A good one to be sure. So, why did he feel as if he’d been cut adrift? Was it because his friends’ lives had seemingly fallen into place while he floundered back at square one?

That wasn’t true, either. He had money in the bank and two college degrees. And three staunch friends who’d lay down their lives for him. He had contacts in business if he wanted to make a career move. Last time he’d been at square one, he’d been a street punk living by the seat of his pants. It so happened that his proficiency with math came at an early age. By ten he was making book on the back streets of Houston. Successfully, too. Although in those days he’d lived with a permanent empty hole in his stomach.

At thirty-eight, he’d come too far and gone through too much to still feel like that scared kid with a big chip on his shoulder. Gabe thought back to the walls he’d scaled since. The motto he’d learned to live by flashed in his head. Forgive and forget.

His steps faltered when the next image that popped up was a sad-eyed Isabella Navarro. He hadn’t lied to his friends. A woman like her should be avoided at all cost.

Except…her haunting image lingered as he clicked the remote to open the doors of his Lexus. Nor did he shake the vision as he rolled down the driver’s window and breathed in the loamy scent of new-tilled fields as he drove back to his empty room at the Inn. Isabella’s face followed him to bed.

Gabe knew, long before sleep claimed him, that he would make the effort to see her again. And in spite of his own good sense and the unspoken agreement of his friends that she was trouble with a capital T, he planned to see her soon.

Tomorrow.

Surprisingly, his stomach felt better when he’d made that decision.

CHAPTER THREE

GABE LEFT HIS LODGING the next morning armed with the address to Isabella’s Bakery. He’d been eating a hearty breakfast at the Green Willow most days, but had at some point during the night made up his mind to forego steak and eggs in favor of coffee and a doughnut. And an opportunity to see if, in the light of morning, he still felt attracted to the baker herself.

He finally located her bakery on a hidden side street, two blocks off Callanton’s main drag. He wondered how he’d missed it before, painted as it was in eye-popping orange. Luckily, in Gabe’s estimation, a large portion of the storefront was taken up with a plate glass window. That color was godawful.

A bell tinkled overhead when Gabe entered the shop. At once he was struck by homey scents of cinnamon, nutmeg and spicy sausage. There didn’t seem to be a soul around, although twin display cases brimmed with freshly baked pastries.

Gabe stood alone, studying available choices for several seconds, before the louvered café doors that led to a back room crashed open. Isabella Navarro, dressed in a style similar to what she’d worn at the reception, rushed out. Flour streaked her face and hair.

She stopped dead in the act of wiping a powdery substance off her buttery fingers.

“Oh…uh…may I help you?” she murmured, a note of wariness creeping into her voice the instant she recognized the man standing at her counter.

Gabe felt as though he’d been slammed in the stomach. No, he needn’t have wondered if the attraction had faded overnight. Even in her disheveled state, he found this woman more compelling than ever.

She approached him cautiously. “Did Summer send you all the way into town to return the leftover plastic dinnerware? I told her that wasn’t necessary. After all, she paid for that many.”

Gabe realized he’d continued to stare at her without responding. “What? Oh, no. I stopped by for coffee and maybe a doughnut for breakfast.”

She processed that news, thinking it must be nice to have a job where you could stroll in for breakfast at ten o’clock. Everyone she knew, herself included, had breakfast finished by five. But why kid herself? Gabe Poston didn’t just happen to wander into her out-of-the-way bakery. Unless she was mistaken, he had a purpose for everything he did. And for some reason, she’d become his current purpose. The thought sent a long-dormant flutter of sexual awareness to her lower abdomen. It was accompanied by a swift punch of fear.

Gabe rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he walked up and down past the gleaming display cases. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything quite as simple as a doughnut. Care to offer a recommendation?”

A slight smile played at one corner of her lips. However brief, it was the first positive emotion Gabe had witnessed. Best of all, along with the tiny smile, he thought he saw an ever-so-minute spark come into her dark eyes. Gabe knew then that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard her laugh. Or better yet, saw that spark flame with…desire.

“For my clientele,” she was saying, “I stock mostly Basque pastries. If you want something warm I have polvoróns due to come out of the oven in—” she glanced at the clock hanging on the back wall “—less than a minute,” she said, beginning to edge backward toward the café doors. “Coffee’s on the sideboard there to the left of the door. Regular, decaf and two specialty blends. Help yourself. Takeout cups and lids are on the shelf above if you want your food to go,” she called over the squeaky door hinges.

“I’d planned to eat here,” he informed her loudly, sauntering behind the display case in order to peer at her over the still quivering louvered doors. “What’s a polvorón? Is that what smells so good?” he asked.

Donning oven mitts, Isabella grabbed a spatula as she opened a wall-mounted oven and pulled out a tray filled with steaming round biscuits. “Polvoróns are cakelike biscuits made from finely ground almond and icing sugar. They sort of melt in your mouth. Especially when they’re hot.”

“They aren’t very big,” Gabe said, sounding more uncertain after seeing the first batch set out on cooling racks.

“Ah.” That one word held a wealth of meaning. “I’ll bet doughnuts aren’t your normal morning sustenance.” For some reason, conversation seemed easier this morning than it had yesterday, although his apparent interest in her was still puzzling.

Knowing he’d been caught, Gabe tried to cover a sheepish look. He managed a rueful shake of his head; she was more observant than he would’ve suspected.

Now Isabella was quite sure this man had reasons other than food for showing up at her shop. She should probably confront him with that very question. Except that, deep down, she didn’t want to know his reasons. She just needed to keep him at arm’s length. Once Julian had pursued her, too, and she’d been flattered. She’d been so wrong about him. For six interminable years, she’d tried every way possible to fix their marriage. Now, every day she was faced with knowing she should’ve tried harder. If she had, maybe Toni and Ramon wouldn’t have paid the ultimate price for her weakness in giving up and walking out on Julian.

Her eyes stung as they always did when she thought of her children. Her hands shook so hard, she almost dropped the hot pan of polvoróns.

Gabe saw, hoping his presence wasn’t the cause of her distress. He cleared his throat, endeavoring to sound nonthreatening. “It was after midnight when I got back from driving my friends to the airport. I overslept and figured it was too late to indulge in a big country breakfast. The clerk at the Inn said I might be able to get something light here.” And his nose might grow a foot for that big fib.

“I’m afraid the only breakfast dish I have left is migas.” Isabella managed to gain control of her emotions. “I can add a thick slice of jamón if you like. It’ll cost you four-fifty total. The unsmoked imported Jabugo ham I use is costly, but once you taste it, I guarantee you won’t ever settle for less again.”

“Terrific.” Gabe refused to show his ignorance, even if he didn’t have a clue what migas might be. Jamón, he deduced, was ham. A thick piece would definitely tide him over until lunch.

“Find a table. I’ll bring it right out,” Isabella said, wanting him to stop hanging over her kitchen door. Something about Gabe Poston unnerved her, and his smile sent shock waves to her already jittery stomach. In an attempt to still the butterflies, Isabella rubbed her belly. The next time she looked up after warming the breadcrumb, herb, hot pepper and tomato mixture she’d cut into generous squares, he’d disappeared from her doorway.

Thank heavens. Otherwise she might not trust herself to slice the ham with the meat knife her brother Rick had sharpened to a razor’s edge just last night.

Gabe smiled hugely when she delivered his piping hot meal. “Since you aren’t brimming over with customers, how about joining me for a cup of coffee? I’m sure you’ve already eaten, or I’d offer to share my breakfast.”

“But…I couldn’t. Just because I don’t have customers right now doesn’t mean I’m not busy. I’m catering a business lunch for the Apple Growers’ Association. There’s only me to assemble sandwiches until my sister Trini gets out of her class at eleven-thirty.” A mask slid over her features as she turned away from Gabe’s table.

“Okay, suit yourself.” He picked up his fork and dug into his food as if her refusal was no big deal. In case she glanced back to check his reaction, he made a show of calmly spreading out the morning paper he’d bought at the Inn. Once he knew she was gone, he stared blankly into the murky depths of his coffee instead of popping that first bite into his mouth. Gabe called himself all kinds of fool for going to such trouble to befriend a woman who clearly would rather he take a flying leap off a short pier.

So why was he expending the effort? Had his recent birthday precipitated some major life crisis? Not wanting to fully examine his intentions toward Isabella Navarro, Gabe swallowed his first forkful of the still-steaming migas.

He gasped. His tongue felt on fire. His eyes watered. Sweat popped out on his forehead. Yelping feebly, Gabe attempted to haul in a deep breath, which only increased the burning. Gagging, he stumbled toward the kitchen, hoping to beg a glass of water.

He exploded into Isabella’s kitchen, which sent the swinging doors crashing into the walls. One hand was outstretched; the other he’d wrapped around his throat.

The minute she caught sight of his red face and bulging eyes, she dropped the carving knife with which she’d been cutting thick slices of home-baked bread. “What’s wrong? Is it your heart? Are you choking?” She reached for the wall phone.

“H…ot!” Gabe managed to get a word past his blistered vocal cords. He stood there dancing from foot to foot, pointing repeatedly at her sink. Isabella finally got the message. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, reached into the fridge and poured him a tall glass of milk. “Here, drink this. Slowly. It’ll coat the inside of your mouth and throat.”

Once he’d done that and the pain had subsided, letting his tense features relax, Isabella chewed nervously on her lower lip. “I’m really sorry. We Basques throw Rocoto chiles into practically everything. They’re not even at the top of the chile heat scale. You are okay, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he croaked. But he downed the rest of the milk and held out his glass for more. She filled it again, this time in full control of her shaking hands.

“I think you fed me a ball of fire on purpose.”

“No. I swear.” She frowned faintly. “I didn’t know what was wrong with you. But if you could’ve seen the look on your face…” She broke off, tightly hugging the gallon milk container.

In a remote portion of his brain, it registered with Gabe that he’d finally broken through her shell. He’d probably presented quite a sight barreling through the swinging doors like a lunatic.

Conciliatory again, Isabella waved a hand toward the door. “Go on back and eat before your food gets cold. I’ll bring a pitcher of milk to your table.”

“Somehow I doubt that stuff’s gonna get cold anytime soon,” Gabe muttered. “So, milk is better than water to put out the fire?”

“According to chile tests, yes. Although the burning sensation rarely lasts more than a minute.”

“Says you. Seemed a lot longer.” At the moment Gabe wasn’t up to sparring with her on the subject of chiles. He retreated with his glass of milk and as much dignity as he could scrape together. He said nothing when she arrived at his table bearing milk and more information he didn’t care about.

“The Rocotos are the small, dark-red pieces in the migas. You should have no trouble picking them out. Habanero and Santaka chiles are several times hotter,” she said, setting the cut-glass milk pitcher on top of his newspaper.

Gabe shook his head. “Don’t most restaurants put triple stars or something on the menu to flag food that’s extra spicy? You need a fire truck painted next to this stuff.” With that, he moved the pitcher and began separating sections of his newspaper. He’d bought it because he wanted to relax over a cup of coffee and take a gander at the real estate section.

Isabella took the hint, and slipped his bill under the pitcher. After a last worried frown aimed at his bent head, she returned to the kitchen.

Damn, but his tongue still felt numb. Picking up the fork he’d dropped at the start of his fool’s dance, Gabe prodded the innocent-looking side dish. He wondered about Isabella’s impression of him and decided he must’ve come across as a complete jerk. He grimaced at the thought.

Gabe dug into his migas with a new determination. If Isabella and her family ate five-alarm stuff like this regularly, he was damn well going to choke it down with a straight face.

It took him half a pitcher of milk, but in time he cleaned his plate. Well, except for three big chunks of pepper. And boy, had she been right about the ham. Terrific stuff.

Full and mostly satisfied, Gabe pushed his plate aside. He settled down to read the paper, raising his head only briefly when the outer door opened. Seeing four elderly women, not one of whom he knew, Gabe dismissed them with an impersonal smile.

They, however, stopped their chatter to scrutinize him curiously.

But he’d found something interesting in the ads. Reading soon claimed his attention again. Two large farms, plus a ranchette, were listed for sale within the boundaries he’d learned made up the Basque community. The Inn’s clerk had circled the area on Gabe’s map after he’d made a few casual inquires this morning. The lonely clerk loved to talk. She was more than happy to educate him on all the local lore. The primary fact of interest to Gabe was that the richest soil in the area lay within the Basque territory.

If he bought a farm—although Gabe wasn’t at all sure he should—he’d want it to pay. His friends teased him by calling him the banker. It wasn’t really a joke; his attitude was that of a banker. A successful one. He was financially cautious, always sought as much information as possible and only took judicious risks. Gabe noticed the guys didn’t complain when he’d steered them toward investments that made them rich.

In the middle of checking the last column of ads, it became apparent to him that Isabella’s customers, who’d been yammering in the background in both English and Basque, had suddenly begun to whisper. Cocking an ear, he soon suspected he was the topic of their hushed conversation. What could they be saying about him?

Jeez, maybe men didn’t frequent Isabella’s bakery. Afraid he might be breaking some local taboo, he quickly folded his paper and tucked it under one arm. He gave the women huddled around one of the display cases a wide berth as he extracted his wallet. Dropping his cash and the bill next to the cash register, Gabe acknowledged the now-silent group with a nod. Then he beat a hasty retreat.

QUITE FRANKLY, Isabella was overjoyed to see him leave. She’d grown weary of fending off the questions from her Aunt Carmen’s friends. They weren’t accustomed to finding a strange man seated in her bakery at midmorning when they came in to do their daily shopping. Yet when she started to punch Gabe’s payment into the cash register, she saw he’d left a ten-dollar bill to cover a four-fifty meal. “Wait!” she called to his disappearing back. “Mr. Poston. Gabe…you forgot your change.”

He stopped, one foot already out the door. “You didn’t bill me for the milk.”

“Goodness, you didn’t drink anywhere near five dollars’ worth of milk.”

“Call the remainder a fee for teaching me how to douse a chile fire.” He couldn’t suppress a grin. The doorbell tinkled merrily as he closed it.

Dolores Santiago, the next-door neighbor of Isabella’s Aunt Carmen, announced, “He’s exactly the way Trini and Sylvia described him to Carmen. Deny it all you want, Bella, the man is clearly smitten with you.”

“And he’s a big spender,” Nona Baroja pointed out, tapping the ten-dollar bill with a brightly polished fingernail.

Isabella jerked the money aside with a stern expression as she shoved the cash in the till. “Nonsense.” She slammed the cash drawer closed. “Not five minutes ago you were all ready to sic my brothers on the poor man. None of which is relevant, anyway,” she said, giving a curt wave of her hand. “As I’m sure Aunt Carmen told you, Gabe Poston is employed by the environmental agency responsible for saving Summer’s ranch from a resort developer. He’s only in town for his friend’s wedding. He’ll be gone soon.”

Nona shook her head so vigorously she loosened the ornate silver clip holding back her gray-streaked hair. “That one’s not leaving anytime soon. Am I the only one with sharp eyes? He was circling real estate ads in the Callanton paper.”

The bell over the door jingled. They all glanced up guiltily, apparently assuming that the man they were heatedly discussing had for some reason returned. But Isabella’s younger sister breezed in. She carried two bouquets of spring flowers and her face was flushed with excitement.

“Bella, was the man I just saw pulling away from the bakery your admirer at Summer’s reception?”

Isabella pursed her lips tightly.

Dolores answered in a roundabout way. “Nona thinks he’s planning on settling in the valley.”

“In our valley? Or somewhere near Colt and Summer?” Trini handed her sister the bouquets and watched as Isabella placed them in cans and set them in a nearly empty upright cooler.

“Nona doesn’t know that he’s buying anything,” Isabella rushed to say. “He was reading the real estate ads. So he happened to open that section. So what?”

“I saw what I saw,” the short plump woman insisted. “He had a red pen in his hand, and he’d already circled at least two ads. One said acreage for sale.”

“Interesting,” Trini drawled. “I wonder if he’d like some suggestions on where to find the best land?”

Two of the shoppers who’d remained silent up to now both pounced on Trini. “You know very well Luisa and Benito want you to marry Paul Cruz,” the elder of the two said. “You wouldn’t catch Paul languishing in a bakery midday.”

“Paul Cruz is a jerk.”

“If you don’t trust your elders’ judgment,” the skinny woman sniffed, “ask Claudia Durazo and Teresa Castillo what it’s like trying to fit into a foreigner’s way of life. Our great-grandparents didn’t come all this way to dilute our bloodlines through intermarriage. You should respect your parents’ wishes, Trinidad Lucinda.”

Isabella saw Trini make gagging motions behind the women’s backs. “Trini shouldn’t marry to please anyone but herself. If she doesn’t love Paul, she needs to keep looking until she does fall in love.”

“Love can come slowly.” Dolores wagged a finger. “Sometimes you need to live with a man and work shoulder to shoulder with him to appreciate his good qualities.”

“And sometimes he doesn’t have any good qualities,” Isabella insisted just as doggedly.

“Bella, Bella,” cried Nona, flapping her work-worn hands. “Don’t judge poor Paul based on your experience with Julian. Even his dear mother said Julian’s mind snapped after you filed for divorce.” Nona didn’t actually say that Isabella bore some responsibility for Julian’s terrible deed, but it was implied all the same.

The Navarro sisters drifted closer together for support, and Trini immediately came to Isabella’s defense. “Julian was a horse’s patoot long before Bella woke up and decided to dump him.”

Dolores Santiago muttered and crossed herself. “The Church counsels couples on working through personal problems. It’s common knowledge that Bella stopped going to counseling, while Julian continued on alone for over a month.”

Few in their tight-knit village knew of Julian’s longstanding history of jealousy and sick possessiveness. The local Catholic priests should have seen through him. Still, Isabella couldn’t condemn them. Father Sanchez and Father Achurra had been as hoodwinked by Julian as everyone else. He was a master when it came to hiding his emotional deficiencies from everyone but his wife. Although Isabella found it hard to believe Julian’s parents didn’t have some inkling, too.

She wiped her hands on her apron. “I have a lunch to cater. The Apple Growers’ Association meeting,” she added, preparing to go back to the kitchen.

“Trini, would you mind bagging the ladies’ baked goods? I still have half a dozen sandwiches to make. Then the boxes will be ready for napkins, apples and cookies.”

Trini ducked behind the counter. “I’ll finish here so they can be on their way. Then I’ll be right in to help you. Oh, Mama sent a messa—” She frowned. “Never mind. I’ll deal with this.” She telegraphed a warning to her sister that said don’t ask any details—or at least not while their aunt’s best friends were in the shop.

“Thank you for shopping here,” Isabella remembered to say belatedly. “Nona, the suizos were fresh-baked this morning.” Isabella stopped to fill a bag with the currant buns she knew were a favorite of the Baroja family. As she handed it to Trini to ring up and then continued on into the kitchen, she wondered what her mother might want. If it was important, why hadn’t she phoned?

She turned on the faucet to wash her hands and discovered they were shaking again. Some days she doubted she could hang on till the trial. It was difficult enough to read the garbage spouted by Julian’s lawyer. She shouldn’t have to deal with censure from family friends, as well. Thank goodness there were only a few in the community who suggested she fell short as a wife and mother. She couldn’t bear it if people she dealt with every day sympathized with Julian.

Granted, they had a male-dominated culture. Which didn’t matter as a rule, because the men were good and decent. Men who loved and provided well for their families. According to stories handed down, Isabella knew it hadn’t been easy on the first wave of Basque immigrants. Few spoke anything but Euskera or Euskera blended with Spanish. They knew the land and the sea, and were fiercely independent. That meant they kept to themselves, so the townspeople often viewed them as antisocial.

Summer Marsh’s great-grandparents and many of the Paiute horse-breeders who lived along the Malheur River were kind and understanding, or so the tales went. By the time Isabella and her siblings came along, they were accepted as equals. Each new generation seemed more comfortable working and socializing together than the last. But some older members of the Basque community still balked at the idea of intermarriage.

Trini stormed through the café doors the way she stormed through life. “Aunt Carmen sicced those old busybodies on us today. I should never have told her about Gabe Poston.” She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead several times. “You’d think I’d learn to watch my mouth. I just don’t understand why they can’t mind their own business.”

Isabella deftly assembled the last sandwich on the board. After setting it in one of the white boxes, she opened a cupboard and took out a stack of paper napkins. “Wash, please. Then grab a tray of red apples from the pantry. I’ll bag the cookies. We can have this done in a jiffy.”

“I wish I could be more like you, Bella. You never let a thing they say get to you.” Trini jammed her fanny pack into a deep drawer with Isabella’s purse, then scrubbed her hands.

“They get to me, Trini. But arguing and giving them more fodder to complain about is a waste of energy. Energy I’ll need to get through Julian’s trial.”

“Which reminds me. Mama took a call from the prosecutor.” Trini entered the walk-in pantry, leaving Isabella’s stomach in a knot as she waited for her sister to return with the apples and complete the message.

“Why didn’t James phone me here?” Isabella asked the moment Trini reappeared. “He has this number, and I’ve been here all day.”

Trini shook her head, making her short curls dance. “James Hayden doesn’t care about your case, Bella. I wish there was a way to fire him and get someone else. Mama and I are positive he didn’t have the guts to tell you he lost the appeal to keep the trial in Burns. It’s been moved to Bend because the judge doesn’t think people in this county can be impartial enough.”

“What? When?” Isabella dropped the cookie she was holding. It broke into a million pieces when it hit the tile floor. “No!” she cried, feeling the thread that held her nerves together unraveling. “The drive alone prohibits the whole family from attending.”

“I’m sorry, Bella.” Trini became instantly sympathetic. “Old Gutless said it was either Bend or LaGrande. He chose Bend because it’s a few miles closer.”

“It’s still a long drive. I’m barely making ends meet and putting aside some money for my time away from the bakery as it is. This means I’ll have to stay in a motel. Trini, what am I going to do?”

“You can let Papa help.”

Isabella was already shaking her head. “I won’t have him and Mama dipping into their retirement savings. And please stop calling the state prosecutor gutless. He’s busy, that’s all.”

“Sorry, I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

“I’ll list the house.” She’d tried before, but it hadn’t sold and the real estate agent had told her that was because of the stigma attached to it. “I’m never setting foot inside the place again, anyway. Do you think enough time has passed that the stigma will have disappeared?”

“If it’s someone who blows in from out of town and knows nothing about the case. No one around here could ever forget what happened there, Bella.”

She mumbled something indistinguishable as she knelt to wipe cookie crumbs off the floor.

“Hey, maybe Gabe Poston fits the bill if Nona Baroja’s right and he’s checking out real estate.”

“Don’t take Nona’s ramblings as gospel. Even if the man is house-hunting, why would he buy a place with four bedrooms?” Isabella’s voice wobbled as she recalled decorating two of those rooms for her kids. She’d used a ballerina theme for Antonia’s and had hand-drawn colorful trains on one of Ramon’s walls to match curtains and a bedspread she’d sewn.

“Erase that. Every time I open my mouth I upset you, Bella. Here, the apples and napkins are done. I’ll help you pop in the cookies, and then I’ll take the boxes to the van. Don’t be in a rush to deliver them, okay? It’d do you good to get out in the fresh air. The lilac trees are beginning to bud. Roll down the van’s windows—the scent alone is bound to perk you up.”

“Trini, you aren’t the reason I’m upset. Who moved out of my old bedroom and let me have it back when I slunk home to Mama and Papa? I’d gladly have made do with the smaller room. But I’m indebted to you for giving me the room with the corner window. I…hate feeling closed in.”

“I know.” The younger girl gave her older sister a quick hug. “I did it for you, but for Mama, too. She never wanted Papa to remodel the house after you, Sylvia, Ruby and the boys got married and left. I was the one who badgered him to combine the bedrooms. So, it’s only fair that I sacrifice a view. Enough of this. While we stack these boxes, give me a rundown on what needs to be done for the rest of the day.”

“I’m starting a wedding cake in the morning. And Audrey Olsen phoned to order an anniversary cake.” She listed the supplies she wanted Trini to buy. “I will take some time while I’m out,” she said afterward, “to take the flowers out to the cemetery.”

“Do you want company?” Trini’s eyes glossed with tears. “I saw the pinwheels you tucked under the counter. You’re…uh…taking them out there, aren’t you?”

Isabella got a firm grip on her emotions. Still, all she managed was a brief nod.

Trini turned away and clamped her hands over the edge of the sink. “On second thought, Bella, I can’t go and watch you plant those pinwheels.” She whirled to face her, looking stricken. “I’d remember how the kids loved to race down our driveway holding pinwheels on a windy day.”

“I know, Trini. I know.” Dismissing Trini to begin loading the van, Isabella collected the flowers and gave her sister a few minutes to deal with her tears. She felt hollow inside, just as she always did.

Getting out in the fresh spring air did allow Isabella some breathing room. She blessed Trini five times over as she drove along the sun-dappled street where the lilacs already emitted their wondrous perfume. In November and December, Isabella had seriously doubted she’d survive the harsh winter. But the Lord saw fit to give her courage to get through a day at a time. There’d been plenty of setbacks. At least now, from the sound of James Hayden’s call to her mother, they were moving closer to a court date—even though the venue had been changed. Later, she’d call Hayden to see if he’d heard when they might start selecting a jury.

Thank goodness she had several events scheduled for the next couple of weeks. And lambing would begin at the end of the month.

Isabella didn’t think she could handle the trial without assurance that at least part of her family would be with her.

Lost in thought, she parked at the rear of the Arrow-root Inn. The inn had two conference rooms, which they rented out for meetings. The Apple Growers were using the end unit today.

Head down, arms loaded with boxed lunches, Isabella couldn’t see where she was going. But she could make this run blindfolded. She was startled to bump into something solid the minute she stepped up on the sidewalk.

“Oh,” she cried, just as a deep male voice murmured, “Whoa there!” Attempting to see around the teetering stack of boxes, she met concerned blue eyes staring back, and shivered as strong male hands slid up her arms to steady her.

“You?” Lurching sideways sent her load rocking dangerously again. “What are you doing here?”

After making sure she wasn’t going to collapse on him, Gabe Poston relieved Isabella of most of her burden. The mere feel of her skin left his heart pounding like a kettledrum. He took his time answering. “I live here,” he finally got out. “Well, for the time being. These are no lightweight boxes. Where’s that cart you said you use in town?”

“For a big cake. These are sandwiches for a group of hungry apple growers who’ll stampede out that door any minute headed for the rest room in the main building.” She was babbling, something she rarely did. “My goal is to deposit this load inside the conference room before I’m mowed down in the rush.”

Gabe straightened the stack, which he’d shifted to one hand so he could open the door. “Which room? A or B?”

“B,” she said in a tone indicating she neither wanted or needed his assistance. But he barged in without knocking. Isabella knew she’d have knocked first and then been made to wait while the meeting wound down.

Rollie Danville, the man seated at the back of the room actually appeared to welcome their intrusion. Most of the others remained attentive to the speaker.

Rollie wore typical farmer’s garb. Bibbed denim overalls and plaid flannel shirt. He drew out his wallet as he approached them. Then, not wanting to disturb his colleagues, he motioned her and Gabe outside.

“Thanks, Rollie.” She accepted the check he handed her without looking at the amount. “I have more lunches in the van. And a cooler full of soft drinks. How’s the meeting going? Are apple prices up or down this season?”

“Up,” he said with a smile. “Your brother Rick is a good haggler. He negotiated well for us at the buyers’ bidding in Wenatchee. We should’ve elected him three years ago. Do you need a hand carrying the cooler before we break?” His gaze strayed to Gabe even as he posed the question.

Gabe stepped forward. “I’m Gabe Poston.” He returned Rollie’s handshake. “I’ll bring the cooler in for Isabella.”

“You’re the SOS money man? I thought you looked familiar. Someone pointed you out at Summer Marsh’s wedding. You fellows dickering on another one of our local ranches?” The door behind them opened, and as Isabella had predicted, a stream of men poured out, all hotfooting it toward the lobby.

She’d turned back to the van intending to collect another load. Interested in Gabe’s reply, she slowed her steps.

He laughed openly. “News travels. I met with a man this morning who wants to sell his place. This deal is strictly personal and has nothing to do with SOS.”

Rollie stuck out his hand again. “So I guess a ‘welcome, neighbor’ is in order.”

“Not quite.” Gabe didn’t accept Rollie’s hand this time. “I made an offer. I expect he’ll counter. Excuse me, sir. I said I’d help Isabella.” Leaving Danville, Gabe rushed over to Isabella’s van.

“I’m used to making deliveries alone. Don’t let me keep you from more pressing business.”

“You’re not.” Ignoring her prickly attitude, Gabe lifted out the heavy cooler.

They unloaded in silence until the van stood empty. Once the last boxed lunch had been deposited inside the conference room, Isabella returned to the sunshine and, with a shade less reticence, thanked Gabe for his assistance.

He shrugged, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes. He casually tucked his thumbs under the leather belt circling his narrow hips as he said, “It’s straight-up noon. Even shopkeepers have to eat. Let me buy you lunch?”

“Why?” Isabella pulled her head out of the van. She’d reached inside to the passenger seat to rearrange the flowers Trini had bought. They were belted in to steady the cans.

“Because we both have to eat.”

“I can’t. I have…an important…ah, errand.” Her gaze veered again to the bouquets. Unconsciously she fingered the points on a pinwheel.

“To the cemetery? I’ll ride along and keep the flowers from tipping over.”

Isabella licked her dry lips and dug in her purse for her sunglasses. She put them on, then raised them again to study this man—a near-stranger who offered to do what even her family shied away from. There was still no sign of pity on his face, nor any in his tone.

“I promise I won’t crowd you once we get there,” he said softly. “It’s not a journey anyone should have to make alone.”

Unable to get a word past the sudden lump in her throat, Isabella tried three times to step up into the van. It wasn’t until she felt Gabe’s cool fingers latch firmly onto her elbow that she felt a hairline crack in her tightly banded control. She managed a simple nod. If he saw her response, fine. If not, she’d make the trip on her own.

But Gabe did see. And he noticed how ragged her nerves were. Quickly rounding the vehicle, he unbuckled and lifted the cans. He sat and closed the door. If asked, he couldn’t have said why he was sticking his neck out. Any moment he expected to have his head lopped off.

CHAPTER FOUR

AT FIRST, Gabe Poston’s presence in the van set Isabella’s teeth on edge. She’d made the drive to the cemetery so often over the past ten months that each winding turn in the road was indelibly stamped on her brain. Normally, she drove in silence, needing the time to prepare herself for a visit that never got any easier.

Isabella especially didn’t feel like chitchatting with a man she barely knew.

But they’d driven a mile and Gabe hadn’t spoken a word. He didn’t toy with the flowers he held on his lap, nor did he fidget like Isabella’s brothers were prone to do. Up until a few weeks ago, by tacit agreement forged out of her hearing, the family always discreetly freed up one member to make this trip with her. Today, even before Trini had backed out, she’d been determined to go alone.

But, if truth be known, she wasn’t ready. It was comforting to have someone with her, sharing the lonely journey.

“Less than a handful of people would do what you’re doing,” she said unexpectedly, her voice hoarse.

“Holding flowers doesn’t seem like such a hard job.”

“You know what I meant. It’s fairly obvious you know a whole lot more about me than I do about you.”

Gabe turned slightly, resting his back against the door. “I’m thirty-eight. Just,” he felt compelled to add. “At the moment, I handle closings on land acquisitions for a non-governmental agency, Save Open Spaces. I have no family to speak of. I find this area…” He paused, as if unable to find the proper word.

“Interesting? Picturesque?”

“Partly. It’s difficult to put into words.”

“Try harsh, moody or erratic. Unless you’ve never spent a winter here.”

“I came last winter to wind up the custodial deal on Summer’s ranch. But winter storms aren’t new to me. I own a condo in Sun Valley.”

“Oh. Then why aren’t you there? Why are you here? And don’t say again that it’s to hold my flowers.”

Gabe twisted his lips to the side, chewing absently on the inside of his cheek. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he said after a lapse.

His answer threw Isabella for a moment. “You told Rollie Danville you’d made an offer on land. Is your agency fighting off another developer?”

“In other states. Not here. Now, enough about me. Tell me about you.”

Isabella immediately clammed up.

Gabe saw how fast her interest had fled. He watched her slender fingers flex repeatedly as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. A private person himself, Gabe respected that right in others.

Shifting in his seat, he again gazed out on the landscape that slid rapidly past. It had been an unusually long, cold winter according to Colt’s wife, who’d lived in the area all her life. Now spring seemed ready to erase the last traces of snow. The deciduous trees were sprouting new growth. Tender, lime-colored tufts of needles formed on struggling young pines. But a cold wind still blew out of the north.

Isabella rounded a bend in the climbing road, and buttercups lent a splash of color to a meadow off to Gabe’s right. He barely had time to appreciate the dappling of afternoon sunshine when Isabella made a hard left and braked the van. An underlying tension raised the fine hairs on his neck.

“We’re almost there,” she informed him.

He’d visited a few cemeteries in his thirty-eight years. After his mom’s, most were military burials. Arlington, Calverton in New York, and Hawaii’s so-called Punch Bowl. All were rolling green hills intersected with rows of white crosses as far as the eye could see. Very formal, but gut-twisting all the same. Gabe didn’t know what to expect of the spot he was about to see. Nor did he know what to expect of the woman seated next to him. He’d comforted a few widows. Wives of buddies lost in the Gulf War. He liked to think he’d understood their grief and their need to grieve in different ways. At the very least, he thought Isabella would get teary simply being here.

She didn’t. He watched her slowly steel herself before she climbed down from the van.

Gabe started to open his door.

“Stay,” she said, reaching across her seat for the two bouquets he held. He felt the cans leave his nerveless fingers.

“Let me carry them for you.”

“I’ve got them.” She bent and picked up a trowel and another sack. “If you’d care to grab some fresh air, it’s a short walk to a stream that follows the base of this hill. It flows through that stand of cottonwoods.” She inclined her head ever so slightly to the south.

Gabe remained focused on her stark white face. If it had crossed his mind a moment ago to accompany her regardless of her protests, that thought died. She was hanging on to a fragile composure. But she was hanging on.

He released his breath. His fumbling fingers found the door latch, and he felt it give way. The next time he was in a position to see Isabella, it was only a view of her too-thin frame as she trudged up a grassy knoll. At the very top stood a pine tree whose bottom branches spread wide. Gabe figured the tree had to be a century old. Who knew, really, how long it had stood guard over the loved ones entrusted to its care?

From the hodgepodge of headstones, this looked to be an old cemetery. The pine served as a focal point. A solid, reassuring sentinel.

Suddenly feeling every bit the outsider he was, Gabe jammed his hands in his pockets and meandered in the direction of the stream.

The minute he crossed the gravel road and stepped into the shade afforded by willowy cottonwoods, his breath caught in his throat. Standing opposite him, across the stream, two elk lifted dripping muzzles and froze in place. Man and wild beasts gaped at one another for what seemed to Gabe like longer than the split second it probably was. The larger of the two elk blinked, then of one accord their hindquarters bunched, and both disappeared upstream into thick underbrush.

Rarely had Gabe been treated to such a heart-stopping sight. It struck him hard then. This was where he belonged. He’d done the right thing tendering an offer on a very overpriced property within ten miles of this stream.

Time drifted as Gabe absorbed the sights, sounds and odors around him. His training in military special ops had helped cultivate senses the vast majority of people no longer relied on for survival. Those same keen senses let him appreciate nature’s bounty—and had him crouching and spinning almost before Isabella set foot in the copse of trees.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice husky, possibly because Gabe’s fierce expression alarmed her.

He relaxed instantly, all sign of his panther-like stealth dissolved. “I saw two elk. One with fuzzy antlers, one without.” His joy was reflected in his wide smile.

“Elk? Probably not, city boy. Not this low in the hills. It’s too late in the season. Any elk herds would’ve moved on to higher feeding grounds by now. It was probably someone’s range cattle gone astray.”

“Who are you calling city boy? I can tell an elk from a cow, I’ll have you know.”

Tilting her head to one side, Isabella let herself really look at him for the first time. Oh, she’d given him a fast inspection at Summer’s reception. Now she studied him feature by feature. Broad shoulders. Solid chest. Flat stomach hidden by a knit, short-sleeved shirt. Narrow hips still encased in slacks rather than blue jeans. And polished loafers, mud-spattered from his recent trek.

“You look like a city boy of the highest order,” she said without inflection.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Although as the words fell from Gabe’s lips, he doubted their truth, especially in Isabella’s case. With her ravaged, empty eyes, she looked like hell. He’d wager that assessment was pretty accurate.

“They were elk,” he said with firm assurance. “I take it you’re ready to drive back to town?”

“Yes.” She turned to lead the way. A hundred or so yards upstream, near a bend where sprinkles of sunlight filtered through the trees, Gabe’s two elk lumbered out of the trees, as if on cue. Coats dark against the backdrop of gray trunks, they lowered their magnificent heads to drink from the stream. Isabella stopped on a dime. She drew in a deep breath of awe and grabbed Gabe’s arm to keep him from stepping on a broken branch that lay in their path. For several seconds they stood beside each other. Their shoulders might have even brushed.

“Your range cows,” he murmured so close to her ear that his warm breath sent a shiver up Isabella’s spine. The pale skin beneath her fringe of bangs wrinkled faintly as she frowned at him. The slight turn brought her lips into very close proximity with his smooth-shaven cheek. Flustered, she jerked her hand back, and quickly took two giant steps away from Gabe.

Her foot landed squarely on the branch. Its crack in the quiet glade sounded as sharp as if a rifle had fired. Once more the elk bounded into the thicket.

When Gabe tore his eyes from the spot where the animals had been, Isabella had widened the gap between them. In fact, she’d moved into the clearing, head down and steps determined. He had to run to catch up.

In normal circumstances, Gabe would have needled her until she verbally acknowledged that he’d indeed seen an elk. The minute he noticed the array of headstones fanning out beyond the silhouette of the van, he was reminded that no relationship with this woman could be classified as normal. He watched her climb inside the van, then walked slowly to the passenger door.

But again she surprised him. He felt her gaze on him the whole time it took him to buckle his seat belt.

Her voice somewhat muffled by the growl of the van’s engine, Isabella said, “I’ll retract my hasty judgment of you, Poston. You may dress like a city boy, but you do know an elk from a range cow.”

“Thank you. I hope it didn’t cost you too much to admit that.”

She didn’t bother to respond.

As she jockeyed the van around a small graveled area in order to head back down the narrow road, Gabe pressed his nose to the side window to see where she’d placed the two bouquets. He spotted them right before she succeeded in completing her turn. Three-fourths of the way up the hillside, not quite in the shade cast by the big pine, two splotches of bright color jumped out at him. The flowers were small, nestled in the middle of a double headstone. On either side of the stone, two tall pinwheels whirled in the breeze. One blurred in shades of red, white and blue. The other spun out every color of the rainbow.

Queasy without warning, Gabe shut his eyes, and kept them shut until he felt the hot pressure behind his eyelids abate. Totally shaken, he was amazed to realize that Isabella showed no sign of crying. Or maybe she had no tears left. He knew she wasn’t without feelings. The ever-present bleakness in her eyes couldn’t hide the truth. So how did she cope? What was Isabella Navarro all about? More than ever, Gabe wanted to stick around and find those answers.

Opening his eyes, he saw his breath had steamed the cooler window glass.

“That drop-off on your right isn’t as steep as you might think,” she said, completely misreading why his forehead remained against the window. “I’ve been navigating these country roads since I was sixteen, in case you’re worried that I’ll send us over a cliff.”

Gabe swallowed hard several times. “No, ah…I noticed the pinwheels.”

Sorrow washed over Isabella, leaving her pupils dilated wide. “Papa used to buy them for his grandchildren at the county fair,” she said haltingly. “My nieces and nephews broke theirs within days. Toni and Ramon loved…the colors. They took such good care of them.”

Gabe touched her face. A gentle tracing of one finger against her cheek. She seemed to understand it wasn’t sexual but meant to connect him to her grief. She was able to regroup and concentrate on her driving when his hand fell to his lap.

Nothing else of a personal nature passed between them on the drive back to the Inn. And darned few generalities, either, Gabe thought after she pulled up and stopped in almost the exact place they’d stumbled upon each other shortly before noon.

Neither one of them quite knew what to say when it came time to part. It hadn’t been the kind of journey he could thank her for. In silence Gabe opened his door and prepared to exit.

After a brief awkward moment, she took matters into her hands. “I appreciated your company,” she said, not fully meeting his eyes. “I didn’t expect to, but…well, I did.”

Gabe dug into his reserve for a lightness he didn’t feel. “I owe you. If I hadn’t invited myself along, I would’ve missed the elk. I’d like to repay you by taking you to dinner. Tonight,” he clarified.

“Not necessary,” she said, clearly impatient now to be on her way.

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d accept. Take care,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you around.” Stepping to the ground, he carefully closed his door, then deliberately set out for his room. Which was where he’d been going when he’d run into Isabella. Two hours ago, he saw now as he glanced at his watch.

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