Someone to Watch Over Me. Roz Fox Denny

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ