Someone to Watch Over Me. Roz Fox Denny

Haven’t we been friends too long to lose touch now? Go enjoy your party, Coltrane. I’m gonna nab me a slice of that cake before it’s all gone.”

      “Uh, Gabe. I couldn’t help noticing that you’re still zeroed in on Summer’s friend. Whatever’s on your mind, it’s probably a bad idea.”

      Gabe glanced away, trying to hide his guilt. “I don’t know what you’re implying. Cake. That’s all I’m after.” He spun and walked off.

      As he picked up an empty plate, Gabe tried putting himself in Isabella’s shoes. But his mind refused, and his gut churned. How could a person go on?

      Damn, he’d always wanted kids someday. Gabe knew firsthand how fast life went to hell when a child lost his parents. He couldn’t begin to fathom what it’d be like for a parent to lose two kids. He’d studied law, but it didn’t take a law degree to determine that Isabella Navarro’s ex was seriously wacko. Too bad the SOB didn’t die with his kids.

      Approaching Isabella gingerly, Gabe extended his plate for a piece of cake. He had no idea what, if anything, to say to her. Something innocuous, he decided, smiling automatically as she looked up. “I closed your van like you asked,” he blurted. “That was me in the parking lot. Remember? I suggested my friend and I help you carry the champagne?” Gabe hiked a thumb over his right shoulder to where Reggie and Marc were moving inside with the crowd.

      The caterer paled as she set a wedge of cake in the exact middle of his plate.

      “The name’s Gabe. Gabe Poston. I’m a friend of the groom. I watched you unload this cake from your van and I thought it was too pretty to eat.” Lifting a fork to his mouth, Gabe raised his eyes to hers. “Um. I was wrong. Tastes great. All the food did. Tasted good, I mean.”

      Isabella inclined her head in deference to his compliment.

      Gabe knew he should let it go at that and move on. But again the deep shadows in her eyes wrenched his heart. “I’ll bet it’s not easy handling a party of this size. You made it look simple, though.”

      ISABELLA NAVARRO REFOCUSED and really looked at the handsome stranger who devoured his cake while trying to draw her into conversation. She couldn’t admit she’d performed her services here today by rote. Work took her mind off…other things. She’d accepted this job for the money. She’d need extra to get her through the time she’d have to take off once Julian’s trial began. Her brain rarely moved past that point. And she needed to keep her attention—all her attention—on that goal. Too many people thought Julian had simply gone off the deep end. Even the media implied he was insane.

      She knew better. And someone had to be an advocate for her kids. Isabella intended to see her bastard of an ex-husband held accountable for his actions. She wasn’t letting anything get in her way.

      Yet here was this poor man. A virtual stranger who obviously didn’t know he was hitting on a woman whose heart had turned to granite. Isabella couldn’t find the words to break it to him, either. Not without crying. And she wouldn’t. Cry. Not one tear until her mission was accomplished.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE MAN’S EYES BORED straight through Isabella, leaving her feeling exposed. The hand holding the cake knife faltered. Why was such a knockout guy attempting to engage her in conversation? The self-proclaimed friend of Colt Quinn’s wore an impeccable gray pinstriped suit, which brought out gray flecks in otherwise lake-blue eyes.

      Isabella stood five-nine without shoes. She had to look up to meet Gabe Poston’s eyes. That made him as tall as her brothers, all of whom were over six feet. Poston’s healthy tan spoke of someone who worked out of doors, especially as his light brown hair was also sun-streaked. Yet his hands told a different story.

      The men in Isabella’s family—her dad, three brothers and two brothers-in-law—all carved a living from the land. Their occupations ranged from apple farmers to grape growers to sheep men, which meant that their knuckles were permanently scarred and chapped. She loved them all dearly, but she couldn’t help noticing that not one ever had fingernails as clean as the man standing across from her now. Men who looked like Gabe Poston passed through Callanton, but they never stuck around.

      That at least came as a relief.

      So, the larger issue that loomed on the horizon, beyond his fine physical attributes, was why he’d singled her out. Especially when Summer had invited a score of eligible searching-for-a-mate females to her reception.

      She could only assume he hadn’t heard about her. Even folks Isabella had known most of her life avoided speaking directly to her now. Not because they were uncaring but because they didn’t know what to say. Truthfully, what could anyone say?

      But this stranger not only spoke, he looked her squarely in the eye and forced her to pay attention. Now that she had, surely he’d see her utter misery, and he’d leave her alone with her pain—like everyone did. Like she wanted them all to do.

      Isabella hurt down into the deepest parts of her soul, and she needed to feel every ounce of that rawness. Otherwise she might not have the strength to continue the fight to put Julian Arana behind bars for the rest of his natural life. That was all she lived for. Julian’s lawyer bragged that he’d won a huge victory when the judge ruled out asking for the death penalty. Only the state’s prosecutor and Isabella’s family knew she’d never favored putting Julian to death. Death was too easy an out for a person who had committed his sin.

      Her hands shook harder and her stomach knotted just thinking about Julian and the case. Either Poston had no sensitivity, or he was simply the oblivious sort. For whatever reason, he was still smiling at her. A disconcerting smile that revealed tiny laugh lines around his eyes.

      “I seem to be your last customer.” Gabe gestured with his cake plate. “The other guests have all gone inside. Presumably to dance. At least I hear the combo that arrived a while ago tuning up their instruments. They have a nice sound, don’t you think?”

      Isabella hadn’t seen or heard a band. Of course, she’d ignored everything going on around her except when it pertained to her catering duties. But it was clear that if she didn’t say something, this guy would pester her all evening. “Feel free to take your plate inside. There are TV trays for empties set up near the dance floor.”

      Gabe averted his eyes long enough to study the profusion of plates and glasses left strewn about the patio. “Give me a second to finish this, and I’ll help you clean up the mess out here.” He gestured with his plate.

      “I…ah…” His offer stunned Isabella. Yet she hated the blush she felt creeping up her neck. Finally, she summoned a grouchy tone. “I have a clean-up crew. You, sir, are a guest.”

      “I’m a friend—”

      “—of the groom. I know. You already said that. Oh, look. Here are my helpers now.” Isabella cast a relieved glance over Gabe’s right shoulder.

      Turning, he saw the two women who’d helped carry champagne in from the parking lot. Both were shaking out large empty trash bags. “Those bags will be heavy once they’re full. Where are the cowboys who carried in the cake for you? You seem to have lost them.”

      “Cowboys?” Isabella frowned slightly. “Oh, you must mean my brothers. They went home. They aren’t part of my crew. They’re ranchers.”

      “So, they only came to carry in the cake?”

      Isabella sighed. Apparently Gabe Poston was a talker. “Most wedding receptions I cater are in town, which means I can slide the cake board out onto a cart and wheel it inside whatever hall the bride’s rented. Logistics here at the Forked Lightning necessitated a change in my usual routine. Really, thank you for offering, but my sisters and I have everything under control.” Closing down again, Isabella set the cake knife aside, then deftly skirted the table, and joined the two women.

      Taking time to scrutinize their features, Gabe did see a vague family resemblance. But he thought she was by far the most