Someone to Watch Over Me. Roz Fox Denny

back against the door. “I’m thirty-eight. Just,” he felt compelled to add. “At the moment, I handle closings on land acquisitions for a non-governmental agency, Save Open Spaces. I have no family to speak of. I find this area…” He paused, as if unable to find the proper word.

      “Interesting? Picturesque?”

      “Partly. It’s difficult to put into words.”

      “Try harsh, moody or erratic. Unless you’ve never spent a winter here.”

      “I came last winter to wind up the custodial deal on Summer’s ranch. But winter storms aren’t new to me. I own a condo in Sun Valley.”

      “Oh. Then why aren’t you there? Why are you here? And don’t say again that it’s to hold my flowers.”

      Gabe twisted his lips to the side, chewing absently on the inside of his cheek. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he said after a lapse.

      His answer threw Isabella for a moment. “You told Rollie Danville you’d made an offer on land. Is your agency fighting off another developer?”

      “In other states. Not here. Now, enough about me. Tell me about you.”

      Isabella immediately clammed up.

      Gabe saw how fast her interest had fled. He watched her slender fingers flex repeatedly as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. A private person himself, Gabe respected that right in others.

      Shifting in his seat, he again gazed out on the landscape that slid rapidly past. It had been an unusually long, cold winter according to Colt’s wife, who’d lived in the area all her life. Now spring seemed ready to erase the last traces of snow. The deciduous trees were sprouting new growth. Tender, lime-colored tufts of needles formed on struggling young pines. But a cold wind still blew out of the north.

      Isabella rounded a bend in the climbing road, and buttercups lent a splash of color to a meadow off to Gabe’s right. He barely had time to appreciate the dappling of afternoon sunshine when Isabella made a hard left and braked the van. An underlying tension raised the fine hairs on his neck.

      “We’re almost there,” she informed him.

      He’d visited a few cemeteries in his thirty-eight years. After his mom’s, most were military burials. Arlington, Calverton in New York, and Hawaii’s so-called Punch Bowl. All were rolling green hills intersected with rows of white crosses as far as the eye could see. Very formal, but gut-twisting all the same. Gabe didn’t know what to expect of the spot he was about to see. Nor did he know what to expect of the woman seated next to him. He’d comforted a few widows. Wives of buddies lost in the Gulf War. He liked to think he’d understood their grief and their need to grieve in different ways. At the very least, he thought Isabella would get teary simply being here.

      She didn’t. He watched her slowly steel herself before she climbed down from the van.

      Gabe started to open his door.

      “Stay,” she said, reaching across her seat for the two bouquets he held. He felt the cans leave his nerveless fingers.

      “Let me carry them for you.”

      “I’ve got them.” She bent and picked up a trowel and another sack. “If you’d care to grab some fresh air, it’s a short walk to a stream that follows the base of this hill. It flows through that stand of cottonwoods.” She inclined her head ever so slightly to the south.

      Gabe remained focused on her stark white face. If it had crossed his mind a moment ago to accompany her regardless of her protests, that thought died. She was hanging on to a fragile composure. But she was hanging on.

      He released his breath. His fumbling fingers found the door latch, and he felt it give way. The next time he was in a position to see Isabella, it was only a view of her too-thin frame as she trudged up a grassy knoll. At the very top stood a pine tree whose bottom branches spread wide. Gabe figured the tree had to be a century old. Who knew, really, how long it had stood guard over the loved ones entrusted to its care?

      From the hodgepodge of headstones, this looked to be an old cemetery. The pine served as a focal point. A solid, reassuring sentinel.

      Suddenly feeling every bit the outsider he was, Gabe jammed his hands in his pockets and meandered in the direction of the stream.

      The minute he crossed the gravel road and stepped into the shade afforded by willowy cottonwoods, his breath caught in his throat. Standing opposite him, across the stream, two elk lifted dripping muzzles and froze in place. Man and wild beasts gaped at one another for what seemed to Gabe like longer than the split second it probably was. The larger of the two elk blinked, then of one accord their hindquarters bunched, and both disappeared upstream into thick underbrush.

      Rarely had Gabe been treated to such a heart-stopping sight. It struck him hard then. This was where he belonged. He’d done the right thing tendering an offer on a very overpriced property within ten miles of this stream.

      Time drifted as Gabe absorbed the sights, sounds and odors around him. His training in military special ops had helped cultivate senses the vast majority of people no longer relied on for survival. Those same keen senses let him appreciate nature’s bounty—and had him crouching and spinning almost before Isabella set foot in the copse of trees.

      “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice husky, possibly because Gabe’s fierce expression alarmed her.

      He relaxed instantly, all sign of his panther-like stealth dissolved. “I saw two elk. One with fuzzy antlers, one without.” His joy was reflected in his wide smile.

      “Elk? Probably not, city boy. Not this low in the hills. It’s too late in the season. Any elk herds would’ve moved on to higher feeding grounds by now. It was probably someone’s range cattle gone astray.”

      “Who are you calling city boy? I can tell an elk from a cow, I’ll have you know.”

      Tilting her head to one side, Isabella let herself really look at him for the first time. Oh, she’d given him a fast inspection at Summer’s reception. Now she studied him feature by feature. Broad shoulders. Solid chest. Flat stomach hidden by a knit, short-sleeved shirt. Narrow hips still encased in slacks rather than blue jeans. And polished loafers, mud-spattered from his recent trek.

      “You look like a city boy of the highest order,” she said without inflection.

      “Looks can be deceiving.” Although as the words fell from Gabe’s lips, he doubted their truth, especially in Isabella’s case. With her ravaged, empty eyes, she looked like hell. He’d wager that assessment was pretty accurate.

      “They were elk,” he said with firm assurance. “I take it you’re ready to drive back to town?”

      “Yes.” She turned to lead the way. A hundred or so yards upstream, near a bend where sprinkles of sunlight filtered through the trees, Gabe’s two elk lumbered out of the trees, as if on cue. Coats dark against the backdrop of gray trunks, they lowered their magnificent heads to drink from the stream. Isabella stopped on a dime. She drew in a deep breath of awe and grabbed Gabe’s arm to keep him from stepping on a broken branch that lay in their path. For several seconds they stood beside each other. Their shoulders might have even brushed.

      “Your range cows,” he murmured so close to her ear that his warm breath sent a shiver up Isabella’s spine. The pale skin beneath her fringe of bangs wrinkled faintly as she frowned at him. The slight turn brought her lips into very close proximity with his smooth-shaven cheek. Flustered, she jerked her hand back, and quickly took two giant steps away from Gabe.

      Her foot landed squarely on the branch. Its crack in the quiet glade sounded as sharp as if a rifle had fired. Once more the elk bounded into the thicket.

      When Gabe tore his eyes from the spot where the animals had been, Isabella had widened the gap between them. In fact, she’d moved into the clearing, head down and steps determined. He had to run to catch up.

      In normal circumstances,