Someone to Watch Over Me

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 shook his head. “He’s not sure. Said he’s had several properties under review. But with the downturn in the economy, a lot of big contributors have pulled back on funding the program.”

“What about land conservation projects currently in the works? I promised to stay with SOS until we close on that Utah deal near Heber City.”

“So you’re really going to do it?”

Marc lowered his glass. “Do what?”

“Bail out on the team?”

“I don’t call it bailing out exactly.” Mark fiddled with his glass.

“What do you call it?” Gabe shot back.

“Look, Gabe, I thought I already explained myself. I’m tired of the gypsy life.”

“I know what you said. It’s just…all so sudden. First Colt. Then Moss, and now you. Hell, you guys are like family. The only family I’ve got,” he said gruffly.

Reggie broke into their conversation. “The house that comes with the veterinary practice I bought in Idaho needs sprucing up. But it’s got two passable bedrooms and a bath with hot and cold running water.” He offered a shrug and a toothy grin. “Might do you good to take out your frustration with hammer and nails. What do you say, Gabe? The invitation’s on the table for an extended visit.”

“Thanks, but I work with my head. I’m not so good with my hands.”

Marc unleashed a belly laugh that drew some attention. “That’s not the word we used to get from your dates, Gabriel, old friend.”

Gabe socked him on the shoulder.

“Hey, pipe down.” Reggie nudged them both. “Colt and Summer are about to smash cake in each other’s faces. Trace is gonna do his thing. Then we can get to the good part. Eating cake and drinking this high-octane stuff,” he said, wagging his glass.

Gabe craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive caterer. He saw another woman, similarly dressed, topping off champagne glasses. The woman with the braided hair seemed to have vanished. Gabe hoped she hadn’t left the party. Releasing the breath he’d been holding, he massaged the back of his neck. Something must be wrong with him to be mooning over some woman he’d never even met.

The newlyweds went to stand behind the tiered cake. The local sheriff and a rancher Gabe had met the last time he was in town were doing a bang-up job of heckling the couple. His mission then had been on behalf of Save Open Spaces. Through their efforts, Summer had not been forced to sell this historic ranch to a crooked developer commissioned by her equally unscrupulous ex-husband.

The three friends fell silent. But it meant everything when Colt’s roving gaze sought each of them out. He smiled and mouthed semper fi. A hole opened in Gabe’s chest again. Damn, he was going to miss these guys. Marc might’ve figured he was kidding, calling them family. But the unvarnished truth was that no one else on earth gave a damn about Gabe Poston.

Not a soul since he was twelve, anyway. That terrible morning in Texas when his mom’s body washed up in Baytown on the shores of Galveston Bay. All the neighbors whispered she’d have died anyway. Shooting heroin off a dirty needle killed her, some said. Russ Poston, a long-haul trucker, claimed he couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t, raise a kid he’d never believed was his. Gabe’s grandparents backed their son’s claim. And his mother’s folks lived hand-to-mouth on public assistance. They couldn’t afford to feed the eight kids they’d already produced, let alone take on another. In a blink he was made a ward of the Houston court.

But Gabe had always been good at taking care of himself. Or so he thought, until at seventeen he ran afoul of the law and a cop invited him to join the Marines or spend more than four years behind bars. He’d made the wisest choice, it turned out.

So what in heaven’s name was wrong with him now?

Blinking to clear a vision gone cloudy, Gabe did his best to work up enthusiasm for watching Summer and Colt trade promises along with bites of cake. He raised his glass with everyone else. He even prompted Trace when he stumbled and got flustered during his one-line toast.

The icy champagne tasted good going down, but Gabe declined a second topping off of his glass. After setting his empty flute on one of the trays situated around the patio, he let himself be swept forward with the boisterous crowd, all bent on hugging and back-slapping the happy couple. Gabe attempted to veer off the moment he saw that the caterer with the haunted eyes had returned to finish cutting the cake. But the other revelers were too determined, and Gabe soon found himself pressed into a corner with the blushing bride.

“Gabe, hi.” Summer inched farther backward, letting Gabe’s broad shoulders conceal her from the crush of well-wishers. “Hey, block for me a minute, will you, please? I’ve been hugged so many times my ribs are all but cracked. Just until I catch my breath,” she added, holding Gabe in place.

“No problem. Especially as you’re just the person to answer a question for me.”

“You have a question?” Summer smiled. “Colt calls you the answer man.”

“Afraid I’m out of my depth on this one. See the woman cutting your cake? Who is she?” Gabe spoke in a rush because he was bumped from behind.

Summer dipped her head to look beneath the arm he’d anchored to the wall. “Izzy, you mean? Isabella Navarro.” Summer straightened, lowered her voice and frowned at Gabe. “We’ve got a large Basque population living east of Callanton. She’s from their community.”

Gabe didn’t say anything. He made it obvious that he was waiting for more information.