Someone to Watch Over Me

Gabe knew that incident had hit him harder than it did Marc or Reggie. After all, it’d been his bright idea to leave the Corps and sell their services in the private sector. The money offered to liberate kidnapped corporate travelers promised to make them millionaires. Shoot, it had made them millionaires. Except for Colt. He’d sunk every last cent into a horse ranch that his first wife had sold out from under him during the time he was held captive.

What a debacle that was. Although…back then they’d all feared Colt was a goner. None more than Gabe. Life sure could change in the blink of an eye. But Colt had escaped, and now he’d found real love with Summer.

Money didn’t seem so important to any of them now. Not like it did when they were young and thought cash was a cure-all for everything.

Personally, Gabe had invested enough to let him do just about anything a man might dream of doing. If only he had a clue as to what that might be…

Maybe that was what bugged him. His buddies had their lives mapped out. Not so long ago, they’d all been footloose and loving it. Now, three of the four had announced plans to abandon SOS. According to Marc, they’d gone into nesting mode.

What the hell was nesting mode?

Oh, Gabe knew, but he didn’t really understand it.

Tossing aside the piece of grass, he rested his chin on fists propped on the top rail. The view out here sparked an odd longing inside him and he acknowledged an emptiness he hadn’t stopped to examine in years.

Clearly, Colt had found his dream here in Eastern Oregon with Summer and her son, Rory. Love. Colt said he’d found true love. True and love rarely went hand in hand in Gabe’s estimation.

Loving your work, now that concept he understood.

Last week, when Reggie Mossberger phoned to say he was leaving SOS, his reason made sense. Moss had worked his butt off to finish veterinary school. It’d been a dream that had driven him to come out of the Corps alive.

Gabe had barely digested Reggie’s news when Marc called to say he’d met someone special on his last trip to Utah—a woman he wasn’t anxious to leave for months at a time as his job with SOS demanded. Add that to Colt’s defection and it left Gabe working alone for Marley Jones. In all honesty, he didn’t want to be the only guy on the team.

A shadow blocked the sun, breaking his concentration. A flash of blue caused him to raise his head.

It was a woman, hurrying toward an area where wedding guests had parked. Gabe idly followed her progress and saw her open the back door of an aging white van. He realized then that he’d seen her earlier, navigating the crowded patio with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Something in the way she walked grabbed a man’s attention.

Classy was a description that came to mind. It probably had to do with the way she carried her tall, willowy body. She sort of…floated. That must have been what caught his eye, since he hadn’t really seen her face.

Or maybe the way she wore her gleaming dark hair contributed to his first impression. So black it appeared almost indigo, and silky in the afternoon sun, her hair was parted in the middle with the sides scooped up into a complicated crown of braids. Gabe couldn’t recall ever having noticed before how any woman arranged her hair.

Staring, he imagined the dark tresses flying loose and wild in the wind. How dumb was that? She didn’t have so much as a hair out of place, even though she’d obviously been dashing in and out of a hot kitchen all afternoon.

Indulging in a long second glance, Gabe saw that outside of her incredible hair she was largely unremarkable. Most of her blue dress was covered by a white bibbed apron. Less-than-attractive shoes were undoubtedly comfortable but not in the least flattering. And compared to the gauzy spring dresses worn by most of the female wedding guests, her attire would be termed drab.

Not by him, though. The woman had…something Gabe couldn’t quite put his finger on. As he continued his perusal, he saw her slide a large board holding a four-tiered cake out from the cavernous interior of the van.

Surely she wasn’t going to try and carry that? He lifted his foot from the fence but he hadn’t gone two steps in her direction when he saw Reggie ambling down the path. So were two women and three brawny cowboy-types who soon overtook Reggie. Those five made a beeline for the white van. One man in the quintet shouted, “Wait! We’ve come to help carry the cake.”

Gabe checked his forward motion in time to see the cowboys take up posts on either side and behind the cake board. They retraced their steps while their female companions, plus the black-haired woman, began hauling cases of champagne out the van’s side door. They wasted no time following the cowboys with the cake. It was obvious they’d all reach Reggie long before Gabe got to the van.

Still compelled to offer assistance, he called to the last of the three women. “Is there anything else you need carried? If so, my friend and I have brawn to spare.” Laughing, Gabe jerked a thumb toward Reggie. He’d stepped aside to let the men lugging the heavy cake pass.

“Moss, don’t stand there like a statue. Help the lady with those bottles.”

Lean, lanky Reggie Mossberger had probably never moved quickly in his entire life. Nor did he now. He managed a U-turn at a snail’s pace—or so it seemed to Gabe.

The caterer, focused on the fate of her cake, cast a furtive glance at Gabe before turning to Reggie, who was closest. “I’m, uh, fine. But thank you,” she said in a dark, smoky voice that affected the pit of Gabe’s stomach.

“Really, I’ve got things under control,” she reiterated, as Reggie tried to take the box. “There’s nothing left in the van. But…if one of you gentlemen could close the side door, I’d appreciate it.” Without waiting to see if either did as she asked, she walked away from them.

Stopping, Gabe swore under his breath. The woman’s eyes, darker than coffee, lacked so much as a tiny spark of life. Gabe frowned. He’d seen such eyes before—in the hopeless, vacant stares of children in third world countries. For a moment he felt knocked off stride.

“Help. Don’t help.” Throwing up his hands, Reggie swung around to face Gabe, who, being nearer the van, jogged back to comply with the woman’s request. As he slid the door shut, he took a moment to read the hand-painted logo sprawled across the side of the vehicle.

Isabella’s Bakery, written in flowery script, curved around the silhouette of a birthday cake topped with a firestorm of lit candles. A local phone number and address were neatly stenciled below that.

Obviously it was where his sad goddess worked. Gabe donned his glasses for a closer inspection. Below, in smaller script, it said the bakery provided full-service catering for all parties and weddings, with their specialty being authentic Basque foods.

Straightening, Gabe turned that over in his mind. During his military travels, he recalled having eaten at a Basque restaurant in the Pyrenees region of Spain. Great food. The Basques were a proud, independent people, if he remembered correctly.

“Who was that?” Reggie spoke from directly behind Gabe.

“I don’t know.” Gabe straightened slowly. “She’s obviously part of the catering crew handling Summer and Colt’s reception.”

“Oh. So why are you out here messing in her affairs? Marc and Trace have been hunting you for half an hour. The babelicious blonde—the one who’s been dogging you all day, said you’d bolted out the back door. Dang, Gabe, what would possess you to run out on such a hot babe?”

Gabe scowled. “If you’re referring to Megan Ward, who waits tables at the Green Willow Café, half the reason I ducked out was to dodge her.”

“No way! Not unless old age is making you go blind.” Jabbing Gabe with his elbow, Reggie threw 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.