Someone To Watch Over Me (Harlequin Super Romance) (8 page)

Stopped in the act of tipping up his own beer, Gabe couldn’t contain a smile that soon spread across his face.

“Hey, wait a damn minute.” Colt gripped Gabe’s arm. “Tell me this whole stupid scheme isn’t so you can get close to Summer’s friend Izzy.”

Sobering, Gabe stared straight into Coltrane’s eyes. “The thought never entered my mind,” he lied through his teeth. “Hey, speaking of your beautiful bride, ask her to give me a rain check on the chili, please.” He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. “After talking to you, I realize I can’t go into sheep-raising cold. If I leave now, I should just make the library before it closes. You said to read up on sheep.” Gabe pressed his half-drunk beer into Coltrane’s free hand. “Well, thanks for the advice. I’m gonna go do exactly that.”

T
HE ONLY BANK IN TOWN
opened its doors at 10:00 a.m. In spite of sitting up half the night scouring the books on sheep-raising that he’d checked out of the library, Gabe arrived ten minutes before the first bank employees showed up. By fifteen after the hour, he was convinced John Campos had changed his mind and stood him up. He was hunting for his cell phone when he saw John pull into the parking space off to his left, driving a pickup too disreputable for words. The thing coughed and wheezed, belching blue smoke into the pristine air as it stopped with one last shuddering hiccup.

The truck wore so little paint it was impossible to tell either the color or the make. No wonder. Someone had apparently pieced a scavenged grill, hood and fenders on a box that had seen better days.

Gabe stepped out and circled behind John’s vehicle. He walked quickly because he wanted to help the older man climb down. John’s work-worn hands were so palsied, he shouldn’t even be driving.

“I’m late because old Maribeth here wouldn’t start.” John bestowed a loving pat on the mottled hood. Gabe saw that it’d been tied shut with a length of clothesline.

“If you’d said something yesterday, John, I’d have been more than happy to swing by and pick you up for this meeting.”

“Well, that’s decent of you, young fella. But Maribeth and me go back a long way. She ran like a top when my sons were here to tinker with her.” His dark eyes swept the barely awakened main street. “It’ll be good to see my boys again,” he said. “But this land’s in my blood. Not easy to walk away from the only home I’ve ever known.” His rumbling voice grew gruff. “This is what Basque
immigrantes
must have felt. Most were young men who fled Spain in search of independence. My dear grandmama already carried my papa in her womb, so Grandpapa wouldn’t leave her behind.”

“Haven’t you all made good lives here?”

“Yes. But before I die or go blind, I need to see the valley of Sierra del Aralar and the mountains beyond, where my grandfather tended sheep as a boy.”

In his reminiscing, John had given Gabe the perfect opening to inquire about a possible teacher for himself.

At first the old man seemed surprised, and maybe reluctant. “Are you sure you want to raise the woollies? It’s a hard life, son.”

“I’ve lived a hard life, John. I’m tougher than you might think.”

The old man didn’t cave in at that news, but shortly after they’d both signed the contract, John offered to introduce Gabe to his neighbors. “I have a good friend who lives directly across the road. Most other farms aren’t within walking distance.”

Back at their vehicles, John paused. “I’m leaving in a week. Only taking my clothes and the family Bible,” he said. “Any furniture you don’t want, give to St. Bonaventure Church and mission. They always have someone in need.”

Gabe felt another wave of compassion for the bent
old man. “There’s no rush, John. I’ll give you time to pack whatever you want to ship to your sons. I’ll even help, since they aren’t able to come for you.”

“No, no.” Campos shook his shaggy head. “I’m only telling you this because if you still want to make some apprenticeship deal with a sheep man before lambing, you’d better see to it soon.”

“I can do that. No problem. Thanks,” Gabe said, stepping aside rather than doing what his instincts clamored—boosting the old guy into the cab. He stood helplessly by, holding his breath, watching with dismay as John came very close to the Lexus while jockeying his decrepit pickup out of its parking slot.

“Did John hit your car?” Her familiar voice with its slight accent spoke from directly behind Gabe, causing him to whirl in surprise.

Isabella Navarro, dressed in a springlike dress and matching jacket, squinted past him at the departing pickup, which chugged slowly up the street.

“He came close, but he managed to miss my SUV.” Gabe took a moment to appreciate the picture Isabella made. It was the first time he’d seen her with her raven hair down and blowing in the wind. She wore the sides pulled back from her ears. Those loosely looped strands were secured high on her head with an ornate silver clasp.

“He shouldn’t be driving,” she said, shading her eyes to watch John’s progress. “I don’t think that truck’s been out of his barn in a year. Two, maybe. Generally someone from the village brings him into town. I wonder what was so urgent that he came out here on his own.” She continued to frown, first at the bank and then at John’s rapidly departing pickup.

Electing to let Campos release his own information
on the sale of his property, Gabe noticed belatedly that Isabella carried a money bag emblazoned with the bank’s logo. He realized she was going in, not coming out.

She headed toward the building, ready to go on about her business.

“Wait a minute. I didn’t expect to see you today. Do you have—”

She held up a hand, halting his rush of words, which was sure to carry an invitation of some kind. “I have…no time. Not for anything. I’m in the middle of a big project and I only left it to make a deposit Trini and I both forgot to do yesterday.” Dispensing a weak wave, she scurried through the revolving bank door that another patron had recently exited.

If Gabe’s cell phone hadn’t rung, summoning him through the open window of his SUV, he’d have waited right where he was until she came out of the building.

His caller turned out to be Marley Jones. “Gabriel, glad I caught you. SOS is ready to make the payoff on Marc’s Utah deal. How soon can you get down there and put a package together? Marc’s afraid the old rancher’s family might be having second thoughts about selling to us. It seems there are rumors floating around that a Park City developer is nosing around the valley in search of land accessible to a lakefront. Marc thinks if we show this fellow the color of our money, he’ll take our offer rather than wait.”

Gabe swore succinctly. He didn’t need this right now, just when he planned to get started learning the sheep trade. Yesterday, though, he’d assured Marley he’d complete the project still in the works. It meant he’d have to drive out to Campos’s place—er,
his
place, he revised with no small amount of pride—right away.

“Tell Marc I’ll book a flight for tomorrow. And that I’ll call later with a time for him to pick me up at the closest airport. Ordinarily I’d drive to the site, but I’d better fly since we’re in a time crunch.”

“Still planning on leaving the agency to settle in Oregon?”

“Yep. In fact, I just forked over a bundle of cash for that piece of property I mentioned yesterday. You caught me leaving the bank.”

“Probably just as well,” Marley lamented. “Contributions are drying up all across the beltway. My past sponsors are even holding tight to their liquid cash. Oh, well—my wife’s been bugging me to retire…again.” He snorted, more to himself than for Gabe’s benefit. “So I will, and I’ll do nothing for a while but administer the trusts and endowments already set up to maintain current ecological ventures. Be sure and tell Coltrane not to worry. The partnership we struck with Summer is funded well past Rory’s old age.”

“Barring any major crash in the U.S. economy?” Gabe threw out as an afterthought.

“Poston, don’t even whisper such a thing. I’m only good for one crisis at a time.”

Gabe laughed.

“Oh, you were joking. Should’ve known that if you’d so much as a hint of a banking collapse, you wouldn’t be putting money into a farm, of all things. You’d be hunkering down to wait it out. Talk to you later, Gabe. Take care, okay?”

Gabe grinned. The only person, other than himself, more bent on seeing his investments multiply was Marley Jones.

Only because he happened to glance out his side window before driving down the street did Gabe see Isabella leave the bank. From the way she tracked his progress, he realized she must’ve been standing inside waiting for him to depart. The fact that she wanted to avoid him that badly dampened his high spirits. He could only imagine her reaction once she discovered he now owned a ranch in her precious community.

Rather than go straight out to see John, Gabe swung by his room at the Inn. He booked a flight to Utah, leaving the return date open. In the two-plus years he’d been closing deals for SOS, he’d learned that it was impossible to judge how long a transfer process would take. No two banks operated the same way. That, plus the fact that he hated being cooped up, he’d never had any desire to work for a financial institution, no matter how much he loved working with numbers.

He stayed in his room only long enough to pack for his trip. He also left a message with Marc’s answering service, telling him when the flight would arrive.

At approximately one o’clock, he set out for what used to be the Campos ranch. Farm? Ranch? Gabe didn’t know which of those terms more accurately described the property he’d bought. Maybe neither, as his place had no animals.

Turning from the main highway onto a two-lane road that led into the lush green valley where he was about to begin a new stage of his life, Gabe felt his spirits lift. His recent uncertainty about what he should do next was gone. Isabella or not, he’d committed himself to this project. Of course, the books he’d read hadn’t made sheep sound all that exciting. But raising the critters did appear to be a simple matter of making sure
they had grass, water and fences to keep them from ending up as roadkill.

From what he’d seen touring John’s upper and lower pastures, they filled the bill. Plus, a nice creek brimming with icy water that ran out of the mountains formed the boundary between his property and that of one neighbor. A neighbor whose house was set too far back from the road to see.

Pulling up in front of the weathered clapboard home he now owned, Gabe mentally listed the obvious cosmetic repairs it needed.

He tucked that list away, got out and soon tripped over a loose board on the top step. He added replacement steps to his growing list.

The old man took his time answering Gabe’s knock.

“Bienvenido,
Gabriel.
Como—”

Interrupting John’s welcome, and in anticipation of his asking what had happened to bring Gabe out here so fast, he explained his changed circumstances. “So, if possible,” he finished, “I’d like to advance meeting your neighbors. Especially if you’re planning to leave next week. I’m not sure if I’ll be in Utah one week or two.”

Campos opened the screen door and stepped out on the porch. “I believe Benito and two of his sons-in-law were sharpening shears when I came home. Shearing starts before spring lambing ends.” He narrowed dark eyes on Gabe. “Come, you’d better arrange to observe Benito through shearing, also.”

“Oh. Can’t I hire someone to shear for me?” Gabe felt new doubts about the whole process crowding in. “The book I read on sheep-raising said there were professional sheep-shearers who hired out to farmers.”

“A book on raising sheep? Bah!” He held up his
weather-beaten hands. “A man is born to work with sheep. Or not,” he added after making Gabe uncomfortable with a long searching stare. “Better you find out which you are before you purchase a flock, I think.” John shuffled off the porch and headed for the front gate.

Gabe followed more slowly, wondering for the first time if the book had made the process appear
too
simple.

As he tramped across the dusty gravel road that separated the Campos clapboard home from a much larger, two-story sprawling ranch house—the only other structure in sight, except for a variety of sheds and barns— Gabe sincerely wished he’d bought jeans and boots before they had this visit. Mud squished under the soles of his loafers. John set his feet down so hard, some splattered on Gabe’s khaki pants.

The old man bypassed the house altogether. As they rounded the corner of what turned out to be a chicken coop, Campos kept on walking toward a grove of trees. He scattered squawking chickens as he went.

Two men in the grove glanced up at their approach. The third and eldest, who wore a dark-red beret, continued to operate a foot-grinder. Sparks flew from under the shears he was grinding. One of the younger men finally caught his attention and all activity stopped.

Wheezing badly, John halted a few feet short of the trio. It gave Gabe time to assess all three neighbors. When the one bent over the wheel straightened and removed a set of carpenter’s goggles, Gabe saw that he was tall, iron-haired and broad-shouldered. Both younger men were shorter, but equally muscled in their upper bodies. All had piercing black eyes that skipped
over John and took Gabe’s city clothes apart inch by curious inch.

The four friends began to speak over top of one another in that melodious language Gabe couldn’t decipher. But he repeatedly caught the word
maketo
and, judging by their sidelong glances, figured out that they’d called him an outsider.

The gray-haired man, whom he deduced was Benito, wiped his hands down his overalls before grasping Gabe’s right hand with a crushing shake.

Managing to paste on a thin smile, Gabe returned the pressure with much less fervor. Hoping Benito spoke some English, Gabe introduced himself.

“So, my good friend tells me you bought his place, Mr. Poston. What, if you don’t mind my asking, made you choose to settle in our out-of-the-way corner of Oregon?” Benito’s English was better than fair, Gabe noted, although he spoke with a lilting accent that reminded Gabe of Isabella Navarro.

“One of my best buddies married Summer Marsh. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Forked Lightning property that lies beyond those mountains in the next valley. I spent a month here last winter, and when I came back for their wedding, something about this place got under my skin.”

The older man nodded as if he knew what Gabe was talking about.

“And you want to raise sheep? Louis there, who is married to my oldest daughter, he gave up sheep for vineyards.” Benito motioned the stockier of the two younger men forward. “Angel. Angel Oneida, husband of my next-to-youngest girl, he keeps a few angora goats. Otherwise, he helps tend my flocks. My sons,
Rick and Manuel, they got rid of all their sheep and went to apple orchards.”