Читать книгу Someone to Watch Over Me - Roz Fox Denny - Страница 8

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.