Someone To Watch Over Me (Harlequin Super Romance) (3 page)

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.”

I
SABELLA
N
AVARRO 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.

T
HE 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.

F
ROM 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.