Someone to Watch Over Me. Roz Fox Denny

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ