Someone To Watch Over Me (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Fox, Roz Denny

  Back at their vehicles, John paused. “I’m leaving in a week. Only taking my clothes and the family Bible,” he said. “Any furniture you don’t want, give to St. Bonaventure Church and mission. They always have someone in need.”

  Gabe felt another wave of compassion for the bent old man. “There’s no rush, John. I’ll give you time to pack whatever you want to ship to your sons. I’ll even help, since they aren’t able to come for you.”

  “No, no.” Campos shook his shaggy head. “I’m only telling you this because if you still want to make some apprenticeship deal with a sheep man before lambing, you’d better see to it soon.”

  “I can do that. No problem. Thanks,” Gabe said, stepping aside rather than doing what his instincts clamored—boosting the old guy into the cab. He stood helplessly by, holding his breath, watching with dismay as John came very close to the Lexus while jockeying his decrepit pickup out of its parking slot.

  “Did John hit your car?” Her familiar voice with its slight accent spoke from directly behind Gabe, causing him to whirl in surprise.

  Isabella Navarro, dressed in a springlike dress and matching jacket, squinted past him at the departing pickup, which chugged slowly up the street.

  “He came close, but he managed to miss my SUV.” Gabe took a moment to appreciate the picture Isabella made. It was the first time he’d seen her with her raven hair down and blowing in the wind. She wore the sides pulled back from her ears. Those loosely looped strands were secured high on her head with an ornate silver clasp.

  “He shouldn’t be driving,” she said, shading her eyes to watch John’s progress. “I don’t think that truck’s been out of his barn in a year. Two, maybe. Generally someone from the village brings him into town. I wonder what was so urgent that he came out here on his own.” She continued to frown, first at the bank and then at John’s rapidly departing pickup.

  Electing to let Campos release his own information on the sale of his property, Gabe noticed belatedly that Isabella carried a money bag emblazoned with the bank’s logo. He realized she was going in, not coming out.

  She headed toward the building, ready to go on about her business.

  “Wait a minute. I didn’t expect to see you today. Do you have—”

  She held up a hand, halting his rush of words, which was sure to carry an invitation of some kind. “I have…no time. Not for anything. I’m in the middle of a big project and I only left it to make a deposit Trini and I both forgot to do yesterday.” Dispensing a weak wave, she scurried through the revolving bank door that another patron had recently exited.

  If Gabe’s cell phone hadn’t rung, summoning him through the open window of his SUV, he’d have waited right where he was until she came out of the building.

  His caller turned out to be Marley Jones. “Gabriel, glad I caught you. SOS is ready to make the payoff on Marc’s Utah deal. How soon can you get down there and put a package together? Marc’s afraid the old rancher’s family might be having second thoughts about selling to us. It seems there are rumors floating around that a Park City developer is nosing around the valley in search of land accessible to a lakefront. Marc thinks if we show this fellow the color of our money, he’ll take our offer rather than wait.”

  Gabe swore succinctly. He didn’t need this right now, just when he planned to get started learning the sheep trade. Yesterday, though, he’d assured Marley he’d complete the project still in the works. It meant he’d have to drive out to Campos’s place—er, his place, he revised with no small amount of pride—right away.

  “Tell Marc I’ll book a flight for tomorrow. And that I’ll call later with a time for him to pick me up at the closest airport. Ordinarily I’d drive to the site, but I’d better fly since we’re in a time crunch.”

  “Still planning on leaving the agency to settle in Oregon?”

  “Yep. In fact, I just forked over a bundle of cash for that piece of property I mentioned yesterday. You caught me leaving the bank.”

  “Probably just as well,” Marley lamented. “Contributions are drying up all across the beltway. My past sponsors are even holding tight to their liquid cash. Oh, well—my wife’s been bugging me to retire…again.” He snorted, more to himself than for Gabe’s benefit. “So I will, and I’ll do nothing for a while but administer the trusts and endowments already set up to maintain current ecological ventures. Be sure and tell Coltrane not to worry. The partnership we struck with Summer is funded well past Rory’s old age.”

  “Barring any major crash in the U.S. economy?” Gabe threw out as an afterthought.

  “Poston, don’t even whisper such a thing. I’m only good for one crisis at a time.”

  Gabe laughed.

  “Oh, you were joking. Should’ve known that if you’d so much as a hint of a banking collapse, you wouldn’t be putting money into a farm, of all things. You’d be hunkering down to wait it out. Talk to you later, Gabe. Take care, okay?”

  Gabe grinned. The only person, other than himself, more bent on seeing his investments multiply was Marley Jones.

  Only because he happened to glance out his side window before driving down the street did Gabe see Isabella leave the bank. From the way she tracked his progress, he realized she must’ve been standing inside waiting for him to depart. The fact that she wanted to avoid him that badly dampened his high spirits. He could only imagine her reaction once she discovered he now owned a ranch in her precious community.

  Rather than go straight out to see John, Gabe swung by his room at the Inn. He booked a flight to Utah, leaving the return date open. In the two-plus years he’d been closing deals for SOS, he’d learned that it was impossible to judge how long a transfer process would take. No two banks operated the same way. That, plus the fact that he hated being cooped up, he’d never had any desire to work for a financial institution, no matter how much he loved working with numbers.

  He stayed in his room only long enough to pack for his trip. He also left a message with Marc’s answering service, telling him when the flight would arrive.

  At approximately one o’clock, he set out for what used to be the Campos ranch. Farm? Ranch? Gabe didn’t know which of those terms more accurately described the property he’d bought. Maybe neither, as his place had no animals.

  Turning from the main highway onto a two-lane road that led into the lush green valley where he was about to begin a new stage of his life, Gabe felt his spirits lift. His recent uncertainty about what he should do next was gone. Isabella or not, he’d committed himself to this project. Of course, the books he’d read hadn’t made sheep sound all that exciting. But raising the critters did appear to be a simple matter of making sure they had grass, water and fences to keep them from ending up as roadkill.

  From what he’d seen touring John’s upper and lower pastures, they filled the bill. Plus, a nice creek brimming with icy water that ran out of the mountains formed the boundary between his property and that of one neighbor. A neighbor whose house was set too far back from the road to see.

  Pulling up in front of the weathered clapboard home he now owned, Gabe mentally listed the obvious cosmetic repairs it needed.

  He tucked that list away, got out and soon tripped over a loose board on the top step. He added replacement steps to his growing list.

  The old man took his time answering Gabe’s knock.

  “Bienvenido, Gabriel. Como—”

  Interrupting John’s welcome, and in anticipation of his asking what had happened to bring Gabe out here so fast, he explained his changed circumstances. “So, if possible,” he finished, “I’d like to advance meeting your neighbors. Especially if you’re planning to leave next week. I’m not sure if I’ll be in Utah one week or two.”

  Campos opened the screen door and stepped out on the porch. “I believe Benito and two of his sons-in-law were sharpening shears when I came home. Shearing starts before spring lambing ends.” He narrowed dark eyes on Gabe. “Come, you’d better arrange to observe Benito through shea
ring, also.”

  “Oh. Can’t I hire someone to shear for me?” Gabe felt new doubts about the whole process crowding in. “The book I read on sheep-raising said there were professional sheep-shearers who hired out to farmers.”

  “A book on raising sheep? Bah!” He held up his weather-beaten hands. “A man is born to work with sheep. Or not,” he added after making Gabe uncomfortable with a long searching stare. “Better you find out which you are before you purchase a flock, I think.” John shuffled off the porch and headed for the front gate.

  Gabe followed more slowly, wondering for the first time if the book had made the process appear too simple.

  As he tramped across the dusty gravel road that separated the Campos clapboard home from a much larger, two-story sprawling ranch house—the only other structure in sight, except for a variety of sheds and barns— Gabe sincerely wished he’d bought jeans and boots before they had this visit. Mud squished under the soles of his loafers. John set his feet down so hard, some splattered on Gabe’s khaki pants.

  The old man bypassed the house altogether. As they rounded the corner of what turned out to be a chicken coop, Campos kept on walking toward a grove of trees. He scattered squawking chickens as he went.

  Two men in the grove glanced up at their approach. The third and eldest, who wore a dark-red beret, continued to operate a foot-grinder. Sparks flew from under the shears he was grinding. One of the younger men finally caught his attention and all activity stopped.

  Wheezing badly, John halted a few feet short of the trio. It gave Gabe time to assess all three neighbors. When the one bent over the wheel straightened and removed a set of carpenter’s goggles, Gabe saw that he was tall, iron-haired and broad-shouldered. Both younger men were shorter, but equally muscled in their upper bodies. All had piercing black eyes that skipped over John and took Gabe’s city clothes apart inch by curious inch.

  The four friends began to speak over top of one another in that melodious language Gabe couldn’t decipher. But he repeatedly caught the word maketo and, judging by their sidelong glances, figured out that they’d called him an outsider.

  The gray-haired man, whom he deduced was Benito, wiped his hands down his overalls before grasping Gabe’s right hand with a crushing shake.

  Managing to paste on a thin smile, Gabe returned the pressure with much less fervor. Hoping Benito spoke some English, Gabe introduced himself.

  “So, my good friend tells me you bought his place, Mr. Poston. What, if you don’t mind my asking, made you choose to settle in our out-of-the-way corner of Oregon?” Benito’s English was better than fair, Gabe noted, although he spoke with a lilting accent that reminded Gabe of Isabella Navarro.

  “One of my best buddies married Summer Marsh. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Forked Lightning property that lies beyond those mountains in the next valley. I spent a month here last winter, and when I came back for their wedding, something about this place got under my skin.”

  The older man nodded as if he knew what Gabe was talking about.

  “And you want to raise sheep? Louis there, who is married to my oldest daughter, he gave up sheep for vineyards.” Benito motioned the stockier of the two younger men forward. “Angel. Angel Oneida, husband of my next-to-youngest girl, he keeps a few angora goats. Otherwise, he helps tend my flocks. My sons, Rick and Manuel, they got rid of all their sheep and went to apple orchards.”

  “I’ve been reading up on sheep,” Gabe said, not wanting to sound as uninformed as he felt. “Coltrane Quinn suggested I apprentice with a local sheep man for a few months to find out what I’d be getting into before I buy a flock. John agreed. I believe he thinks you might be amenable to such a plan.” Gabe decided to quit pussyfooting around and state his objective straight off.

  Benito tucked his thumbs under his overall straps. While he pondered Gabe’s proposal, the younger men circled around. The one called Louis stuck out his hand. “I’m Louis Achabal. Your name’s familiar, but I don’t think we’ve met.” He pumped Gabe’s hand.

  “Were you at Colt and Summer’s wedding?” Gabe asked. “I met a lot of area ranchers there.”

  “Nope. Angel’s wife went, but he couldn’t go because he coaches his son’s ball team. Their first practice was that afternoon. I had grape vines to nip.”

  “I’m sure we haven’t met.” Gabe wished Benito would make up his mind one way or the other so he could let them get back to work and then leave.

  Benito was no longer studying Gabe. He’d turned his attention on John Campos. “I’m sorry to be losing you, mi amigo,” he said, blinking back what Gabe was pretty certain were tears. “Change of any kind is difficult and better absorbed in little bits. I suggest we adjourn to Louis’s sidrerias where we can sit and talk.”

  The others agreed so quickly and enthusiastically, Gabe had no choice but to concur. He hung back, slowing his steps to John’s slower pace. “My Spanish is rusty and I don’t know Basque at all. What’s a sidrerias?

  “Basques were forbidden to speak Euskera, our language, for so long, it’s easy to slip into Spanish, which we were forced to use. Benito has invited us to his son-in-law’s cider house.”

  Gabe nodded. A beer would suit him better, but perhaps these men didn’t drink it. He knew next to nothing about Basque history or culture. He’d have to pick up a book when he went back to the library.

  Louis’s cider house turned out to be a cozy enclosure off the vat room of Achabal’s winery. It looked to Gabe as if this might be a common meeting area. Six or so straight-backed wooden chairs sat around a low, square table.

  Louis had hollered to his wife as the group of men tromped past his single-story dwelling. Two border collies roused themselves and wagged their tails. A plump, brown-haired woman stepped out on the back porch, and Louis jogged over to confer with her while the others continued.

  It wasn’t long before he rejoined them in the room. “Ruby sent tapas to celebrate John’s sale. She suggested inviting him and Mr. Poston to dinner at the main house tonight, Benito.”

  “Please, call me Gabe. Mr. Poston is far too formal. But I couldn’t put your wife out on such short notice, Benito. Besides, I’m going out of town for a few days. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense. You still have to eat.” Benito removed his beret and swiped a fat green olive and a piece of ham off the platter Louis had set on the low table. “At times, my first-born is a wise woman,” he said, spitting the olive pit into his hand.

  No one paid Gabe any heed. Louis disappeared again, this time into the vat room. He wasn’t gone five minutes, and returned with a tray of water glasses, each brimming with frosty red wine. He served his father-in-law first, then John and Gabe. It was almost a ritual, Gabe mused, observing how the younger men waited for Benito to sample his wine before they relaxed or even took a sip from their tumblers.

  “Ah. Perfecto.” Benito smacked his lips. Louis beamed. Amid much boisterous toasting of John and himself, Gabe noticed that the others found time to drink heartily. So he followed their example.

  “Why is this called a cider house?” he asked after Louis had retrieved a tall wooden pitcher and topped off everyone’s glass.

  “In the old country, apple harvests were plentiful. Good cider could be bartered in town for many scarce food items. Men from surrounding villages used to gather to taste from each vat. It grew into a tradition, which later extended to wines.”

  Gabe bobbed his head, suddenly realizing he’d been doing a lot of that in conjunction with chuckling at the men’s bawdy jokes. “I’m no expert on wines. But, I’d say you have a winner here, Louis.” Lifting his glass in salute, Gabe drained it.

  As the afternoon wore on, all the food on the plate got consumed. There had been much talk about John returning to Vizcaya, or what the men referred to as Euskedi. As near as Gabe could tell, it was a province in Spain where the majority of John’s family had lived and died. Evening shadows fell, and still not one word had been said concerning
Gabe’s request to apprentice with Benito.

  At one point, Louis’s wife slipped in to hand her husband two piping hot loaves of bread. Again the wineglasses were refilled. Gabe, thoroughly mellow by now, ceased to worry. Not about learning sheep. Not about his upcoming trip to Utah. He settled in to enjoy the simple camaraderie of men, something he sorely missed since he, Colt, Moss and Marc had scattered to the four winds.

  After the men had consumed their fill of the home-baked bread, Angel cleared the table and brought out a deck of cards.

  Liking poker, Gabe was disappointed to discover they intended to play a game called mus. “I’m told it’s like whist,” Angel whispered to him.

  Attentive and good at cards, Gabe soon caught on to the spirited game. He became the focus of a lot of good-natured ribbing, though, as he lost hand after hand. He swallowed all their guff with equanimity, saying, “You guys have the advantage. You grew up playing this.”

  Midway through the fifth hand, after Gabe had shelled out all the change in his pockets, Benito pounded him on the back.

  “You’re a good sport. I think you’ll fit in to our village just fine.”

  Pleasantly buzzed, Gabe almost missed what had happened in that subtle exchange. “Oh. Oh! Then you’ll let me tag along and learn how to raise sheep?”

  The older man shared an unspoken sign of agreement with Louis and Angel. They all broke into huge grins, and one at a time rose to shake Gabe’s hand. His fingers tingled for several minutes afterward.

  Pleased, Gabe assumed that would bring an end to their caucus. Wrong. The deck of cards disappeared and dominoes came out instead.

  Gabe, known for his ability to add and subtract rapidly, again found himself on the short end of this highly competitive game. He slapped a hand over his glass the next time Louis poured a round. And still his companions outplayed him. As well, they kept everyone’s score in their heads.

  It soon became a matter of pride for Gabe to win at least one game. The door opened as he made his private vow. Three burly newcomers trudged inside. They pretty much filled the room. Benito rose fluidly to greet the new arrivals. Gabe got up more slowly, awfully afraid he was blinking like a hoot owl as his new mentor introduced him.