Roz Fox - Someone to Watch Over Me

“It’s still a long drive. I’m barely making ends meet and putting aside some money for my time away from the bakery as it is. This means I’ll have to stay in a motel. Trini, what am I going to do?”

“You can let Papa help.”

Isabella was already shaking her head. “I won’t have him and Mama dipping into their retirement savings. And please stop calling the state prosecutor gutless. He’s busy, that’s all.”

“Sorry, I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

“I’ll list the house.” She’d tried before, but it hadn’t sold and the real estate agent had told her that was because of the stigma attached to it. “I’m never setting foot inside the place again, anyway. Do you think enough time has passed that the stigma will have disappeared?”

“If it’s someone who blows in from out of town and knows nothing about the case. No one around here could ever forget what happened there, Bella.”

She mumbled something indistinguishable as she knelt to wipe cookie crumbs off the floor.

“Hey, maybe Gabe Poston fits the bill if Nona Baroja’s right and he’s checking out real estate.”

“Don’t take Nona’s ramblings as gospel. Even if the man is house-hunting, why would he buy a place with four bedrooms?” Isabella’s voice wobbled as she recalled decorating two of those rooms for her kids. She’d used a ballerina theme for Antonia’s and had hand-drawn colorful trains on one of Ramon’s walls to match curtains and a bedspread she’d sewn.

“Erase that. Every time I open my mouth I upset you, Bella. Here, the apples and napkins are done. I’ll help you pop in the cookies, and then I’ll take the boxes to the van. Don’t be in a rush to deliver them, okay? It’d do you good to get out in the fresh air. The lilac trees are beginning to bud. Roll down the van’s windows—the scent alone is bound to perk you up.”

“Trini, you aren’t the reason I’m upset. Who moved out of my old bedroom and let me have it back when I slunk home to Mama and Papa? I’d gladly have made do with the smaller room. But I’m indebted to you for giving me the room with the corner window. I…hate feeling closed in.”

“I know.” The younger girl gave her older sister a quick hug. “I did it for you, but for Mama, too. She never wanted Papa to remodel the house after you, Sylvia, Ruby and the boys got married and left. I was the one who badgered him to combine the bedrooms. So, it’s only fair that I sacrifice a view. Enough of this. While we stack these boxes, give me a rundown on what needs to be done for the rest of the day.”

“I’m starting a wedding cake in the morning. And Audrey Olsen phoned to order an anniversary cake.” She listed the supplies she wanted Trini to buy. “I will take some time while I’m out,” she said afterward, “to take the flowers out to the cemetery.”

“Do you want company?” Trini’s eyes glossed with tears. “I saw the pinwheels you tucked under the counter. You’re…uh…taking them out there, aren’t you?”

Isabella got a firm grip on her emotions. Still, all she managed was a brief nod.

Trini turned away and clamped her hands over the edge of the sink. “On second thought, Bella, I can’t go and watch you plant those pinwheels.” She whirled to face her, looking stricken. “I’d remember how the kids loved to race down our driveway holding pinwheels on a windy day.”

“I know, Trini. I know.” Dismissing Trini to begin loading the van, Isabella collected the flowers and gave her sister a few minutes to deal with her tears. She felt hollow inside, just as she always did.

Getting out in the fresh spring air did allow Isabella some breathing room. She blessed Trini five times over as she drove along the sun-dappled street where the lilacs already emitted their wondrous perfume. In November and December, Isabella had seriously doubted she’d survive the harsh winter. But the Lord saw fit to give her courage to get through a day at a time. There’d been plenty of setbacks. At least now, from the sound of James Hayden’s call to her mother, they were moving closer to a court date—even though the venue had been changed. Later, she’d call Hayden to see if he’d heard when they might start selecting a jury.

Thank goodness she had several events scheduled for the next couple of weeks. And lambing would begin at the end of the month.

Isabella didn’t think she could handle the trial without assurance that at least part of her family would be with her.

Lost in thought, she parked at the rear of the Arrow-root Inn. The inn had two conference rooms, which they rented out for meetings. The Apple Growers were using the end unit today.

Head down, arms loaded with boxed lunches, Isabella couldn’t see where she was going. But she could make this run blindfolded. She was startled to bump into something solid the minute she stepped up on the sidewalk.

“Oh,” she cried, just as a deep male voice murmured, “Whoa there!” Attempting to see around the teetering stack of boxes, she met concerned blue eyes staring back, and shivered as strong male hands slid up her arms to steady her.

“You?” Lurching sideways sent her load rocking dangerously again. “What are you doing here?”

After making sure she wasn’t going to collapse on him, Gabe Poston relieved Isabella of most of her burden. The mere feel of her skin left his heart pounding like a kettledrum. He took his time answering. “I live here,” he finally got out. “Well, for the time being. These are no lightweight boxes. Where’s that cart you said you use in town?”

“For a big cake. These are sandwiches for a group of hungry apple growers who’ll stampede out that door any minute headed for the rest room in the main building.” She was babbling, something she rarely did. “My goal is to deposit this load inside the conference room before I’m mowed down in the rush.”

Gabe straightened the stack, which he’d shifted to one hand so he could open the door. “Which room? A or B?”

“B,” she said in a tone indicating she neither wanted or needed his assistance. But he barged in without knocking. Isabella knew she’d have knocked first and then been made to wait while the meeting wound down.

Rollie Danville, the man seated at the back of the room actually appeared to welcome their intrusion. Most of the others remained attentive to the speaker.

Rollie wore typical farmer’s garb. Bibbed denim overalls and plaid flannel shirt. He drew out his wallet as he approached them. Then, not wanting to disturb his colleagues, he motioned her and Gabe outside.

“Thanks, Rollie.” She accepted the check he handed her without looking at the amount. “I have more lunches in the van. And a cooler full of soft drinks. How’s the meeting going? Are apple prices up or down this season?”

“Up,” he said with a smile. “Your brother Rick is a good haggler. He negotiated well for us at the buyers’ bidding in Wenatchee. We should’ve elected him three years ago. Do you need a hand carrying the cooler before we break?” His gaze strayed to Gabe even as he posed the question.

Gabe stepped forward. “I’m Gabe Poston.” He returned Rollie’s handshake. “I’ll bring the cooler in for Isabella.”

“You’re the SOS money man? I thought you looked familiar. Someone pointed you out at Summer Marsh’s wedding. You fellows dickering on another one of our local ranches?” The door behind them opened, and as Isabella had predicted, a stream of men poured out, all hotfooting it toward the lobby.

She’d turned back to the van intending to collect another load. Interested in Gabe’s reply, she slowed her steps.

He laughed openly. “News travels. I met with a man this morning who wants to sell his place. This deal is strictly personal and has nothing to do with SOS.”