Guarding Gaby Page 8

  Odd fragments floated up then, little bubbles rising to the surface and popping open.

  Rosemary. Soft air currents. Incense.

  Comfort.

  Gaby wavered, shifting bare feet over the smooth wood floors.

  Juanita’s hand remained outstretched, her eyes both chiding and patient, as if there was all the time in the world for Gaby to make up her mind.

  You are safe.

  In this woman was strength in abundance.

  Gaby’s own seemed to have fled. “Tell me what happened here.” More a plea than a demand.

  Juanita nodded. “Over tea.” She opened the door wider.

  “I start my day with coffee.”

  “Too often, I am certain. This day, you will not.” She turned and walked out as if certain Gaby would follow.

  To her own surprise, Gaby did just that.

  Susto. Gaby rolled the word around in her head, but it was her heart that heard the diagnosis.

  “Your soul has been driven from your body by the shock of your father’s passing,” said Juanita. “You would grow weaker if we did not rid you of the darkness preventing its return.”

  “What was all that—” Gaby waved in the direction of the little room. “Last night? The…chanting. The candles. The rosemary.” She wanted to sneer, but she couldn’t seem to find it.

  “You are a child of your culture, however much you have become estranged,” chided Rosaria. “You know of curanderismo.”

  Yes, of course, she did. Many people swore by the native healers who kept alive traditions extending all the way back to the Aztecs and enriched by assimilating the wisdom the Moors brought to Spain, the practices of the Africans come as slaves to the Caribbean. Core beliefs of Catholicism had mingled, as well, and the stew was a potent one.

  Curanderas were the doctor of choice for many. Medical care was sparse in this region and she was also aware that alternative medicine was a growing interest through all socioeconomic levels.

  But not for Gaby. As an adult, she was a Harvard-med-school-grad kind of patient, the exceedingly rare times she’d sought out a doctor. As a kid, she’d hardly ever been sick, and county health department clinics had taken care of her vaccinations. Her father had scoffed at what he called witch doctors.

  Her mother, apparently, had not.

  “I…don’t know what to think.” Gaby clutched the pottery cup of tea.

  The two women traded smiling glances. “You should come to meet my Rafael and his Diana. My grandson is half-Latino and trained in Western medicine, but he is heir to my abilities. He was torn between two worlds for a long time, and when he met Diana, she was a famous cardiac surgeon who only tolerated my practices because she loved me.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Rosaria’s smile was fond and proud. “They went through many hard times before they came to a place of peace. Now they operate clinics both in La Paloma and Dallas, where Diana practiced, and they incorporate the best of both worlds for the benefit of those who would otherwise have no medical care. Rafael sees my patients now, along with many others, and thus I am free to visit my friend, a luxury I did not have for many years.”

  “A busman’s holiday?” Gaby asked with a smile. Cleansed by the storm of tears, if not reassured by the explanations she’d received from the two old women, Gaby nonetheless had to admit that she was feeling better than she had in a long time.

  Probably only the sound night’s sleep.

  Rosaria nodded patiently. “A healer can never turn away from those in need.” Her expression grew solemn. “I am leaving today; Rafael will fetch me soon. If you will excuse me, I must pack.” At the door, she turned. “You must allow Juanita to help you. You are not out of danger.” With measured steps, she proceeded down the hall.

  Gaby looked at the other woman. “I have to return to New York as soon as I can dispose of my father’s place.”

  “It would kill Frank all over again to hear you speak in that manner,” Juanita said.

  The tiny wisps of peace fled. “I have no choice. I can’t live here. My life’s in Manhattan.”

  Juanita’s head shook slowly. “You will have no life until you come to terms with your past. With your father.” She paused. “With Eli.”

  Eli. “Have you seen him? I have to find him. Chad is looking for him. He believes Eli killed my father.”

  Nothing showed on Juanita’s face, but her eyes were an eagle’s. “And what do you believe?”

  “He left me.” In that instant, she realized just how deep the hurt still went. “Without a word. When he’d promised we’d be together forever. Maybe I never really knew him.”

  If anything, Juanita’s face hardened. “Perhaps you did not.” Her tone indicted Gaby, however, not Eli.

  “I worried about him.” Gaby was surprised to hear herself admit it. “I looked for him everywhere, but after the fire killed his mother, he vanished.”

  Silence was the only response, but she was abruptly certain that this woman was her best chance to find him. “He would not hurt his mother, I don’t care what anyone claims,” Gaby said.

  No answer but preternatural stillness, as if Gaby still had something to prove.

  “He wouldn’t have harmed my father, at least, the boy I loved wouldn’t have.” The word love echoed all around her, one she hadn’t dared think about for a long time. That emotion wasn’t on her radar screen and hadn’t been for years.

  Nine, to be exact. She wasn’t sure what would have to happen to make her risk her heart again.

  Juanita rose then but paused, aging hands on the scarred wooden surface. Lovely hands, Gaby noticed, for all that time had marked them. Comforting and strong.

  “Your Sheriff Anderson thinks otherwise.”

  “I know. He’s determined to find Eli and put him away. If he’s still nearby, Eli should leave.” She laid her own hand atop the old woman’s, and something passed between them, a current strong enough to reach into Gaby’s heart. “Please…make him go. Tell him—”

  What to say to a man who bore no resemblance to the boy who had once been her world? She was changed, as well, perhaps too much.

  But for the boy’s sake, she took a chance. “Tell him that I—I don’t want to see harm come to him, whatever has changed between us.”

  Juanita’s eyes darkened then. “Tell him yourself. Eli will not come to me now, to protect me from that man’s son.” Her tone held a bitter note.

  “What man? Do you mean Chad’s father? What does he have to do with this? And why do you need protecting?”

  “Rosaria,” Juanita called out. “I must show you one more thing before you go.” Juanita picked up her mug and rounded the table with slow steps.

  Gaby rose. “Wait—” She grasped at Juanita’s arm, but the old woman stiffened. “At least give me something to help me locate him.”

  Juanita relented only slightly. “Your heart could do that.” She shook her head. “But only if you are willing to listen.” With immense dignity, she departed.

  Gaby stared after her for endless moments.

  Then finally, she shook her head and made her way to the tiny room to dress.

  Chapter Eight

  Where the devil was she? Eli paced in the shadows of the barn. Against his better judgment, he’d returned after sunset, only to discover her gone. When he should have been out patrolling, instead he’d made three trips back here during the night.

  But Gaby had never come home.

  He thought about what he’d witnessed, her on tiptoes, kissing Chad’s cheek. Chad’s obvious desire for her.

  His gut twisted at the notion of the two of them together, the man who wanted him destroyed and the faithless woman—

  However much you’ve changed, I can’t believe you had anything to do with my father’s death.

  She wasn’t faithless, then. But why, when she’d been so insistent that he come to her, had she been gone all night?

  The only answers were ones he couldn’t tolerate.
She was with Chad.

  Or, worse, Chad’s partners had made a move on her.

  And Eli had no one to ask. Nowhere to seek help.

  Mingled fear and fury tore at him until he thought he—

  The sound of an engine. An old one.

  Eli peered from the barn and saw Gaby driving up. Nearly went to his knees in relief.

  Until he spotted Chad’s truck coming up behind her.

  Chad’s expression was grim as he rounded his hood. “Where have you been?”

  All traces of his previous charm were gone. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

  Chad’s face darkened, but he gathered himself in, though a muscle in his tight jaw leaped. “You never came home last night.”

  “So?”

  “Until we have Wolverton in custody, you’re not safe.”

  “Eli would never hurt me.”

  His gaze on her was pure steel. “You’re a fool if you believe that.”

  “And here I thought I was a grown woman who’d been on her own for a long time. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.”

  The strong jaw tightened. “You’re out of your league here.”

  She couldn’t help the laughter that burst from her. “No, I’m not. Chad, do you have any idea what it’s like to be a woman alone in New York at night? Do you have a clue how many locks I have on my apartment door?”

  He stiffened with damaged pride. “I only want to keep you from harm.”

  Patience, Gaby. You’re in macho country. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not your responsibility.”

  He turned intent tawny eyes on her. “You could be,” he said softly.

  “Chad…” She was treading dangerous ground now. She chose to dodge. “My father just died. I don’t know what I want right now.” That much was God’s honest truth.

  His shoulders eased a little. “I understand.” He backed away, holding the door open for her. “I’m doing everything I can to bring his murderer to justice.”

  She descended and stood in front of him, forcibly restraining herself from arguing over Eli’s innocence. “I know you are.”

  “Until I have him in custody, you could be a target.” His stance was stubborn. “You should stay with me. If you need a damn chaperone, Maria is there to guard your virtue,” he grumbled.

  Gaby couldn’t stem a chuckle. “Chad, my virtue high-tailed it years ago.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, bringing to mind how often Chad had attempted to sweet-talk her into surrendering her virginity to him. How she’d cooled toward him once Eli came into her life.

  She drew back from him, and the sudden silence between them echoed with old hurts. “I promise to be careful, but that’s all you can ask of me. I’ve been on my own too long to be tucked under anyone’s wing now. Anyway, I’ll be gone soon.”

  His glance sharpened. “Will you? Have you thought any more about what you want to do with the ranch? I’ll buy it from you, if that’s what you want. Make you a good price for it, too. You can clear out whatever you feel like keeping, then I can either dispose of the rest or put it in storage until you’re ready to handle it.” Here he paused, his gaze locked on hers. “But what I’d prefer to do is what our fathers had planned.”

  She wasn’t ready, not for a proposal or, she was surprised to discover, for the notion of quickly divesting herself of the ranch. “When I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know. That’s all I can promise right now.”

  A mulish look on his face, he nodded. “I should be getting to the office,” he said stiffly.

  “Have a good day,” she offered.

  He tipped the brim of his hat, then got into his truck. He left a cloud of dust behind him as he shot down the drive.

  Gaby shook her head and sighed. Men. One who was invisible, and one who wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Had Eli come last night? If not, she was going looking for him. Juanita was right—Gaby did know some things about him. First she’d check the cave where he’d often holed up.

  And with that resolution, something inside her settled for the first time since she’d picked up the phone in New York. She would dig into all that she’d been avoiding, however painful, and figure out what had been happening just before her father’s death. She had learned much about financial matters under Mona’s tutelage, and she would utilize all that in a quest to see who might benefit from her father’s demise. Who would want him out of the way—and why.

  Chad, as a neighbor, would welcome the opportunity to own this land, of course, but there must be others with interests more sinister than simply being next door.

  At last, she had a purpose. Something more concrete than grief, something that would allow her to utilize her brain instead of all the emotions that she’d been wallowing in for days.

  Her boss had told her often that no one could see to the heart of the matter more quickly or swing into action more decisively.

  She walked inside the house, mentally rolling up her sleeves.

  Work had been her salvation for a long time. It would be so again.

  Pawing through the small wooden desk felt like trespassing, but she had no choice. Her father was not here to ask. Tucked into a corner of the living room, the desk had been off-limits to her for so long that she found herself touching the center drawer pull, then yanking her hand back as though a sharp rebuke awaited.

  She couldn’t help a small shake of her head at how deeply ingrained childhood prohibitions could become. She opened the drawer and stared at the contents.

  A date book from nineteen ninety-seven, one given out by the feed store in Alpine. It was stuffed with bits of paper and held closed by a worn rubber band.

  Three stubby pencils and two ballpoint pens, one bearing the logo of her father’s bank, long since absorbed into one of the endless chains of super-banks spreading across the country.

  A handful of rusty paperclips.

  Several sheets of notebook paper like she’d used in school.

  One small folded sheet, long-creased with age. Gingerly, she picked it up and opened it.

  Her own handwriting greeted her, if a younger version.

  Papi—

  I am spending the night with Linda. You and Paco behave!

  Te amo.

  Gabriela

  The sheer artlessness of the note, the easy assumption that he wouldn’t be lonely, that she was entitled to fly free and never think about whether he would miss her or need her to cook his supper because he was exhausted—

  Te amo. I love you. Her eyes filmed over.

  I did love you, Papa. I still do. I am so very sorry for all the years we lost, for all the talks we could have had when I was more mature. When I could have seen that you were not simply mi padre, the authority figure in my life, but you were a man trying to do his best to raise a motherless daughter when you were drowning in grief yourself.

  She ached for the man who’d helped her make the transition into womanhood, who’d tried to negotiate the terrifying swamp of teenage girl fashion and dating etiquette. Who had attended as many school programs as possible, sometimes arriving late and dust-covered but still there in the back of the room, hat in hand, eyes intent on her performance or speech or song.

  What did I do to you, Papa, when I left? When my hurt and my pride refused us a chance?

  The pain of thinking of him, here in this house, alone and deprived of a future, nearly drove her to her knees. She was his child, his heir. She should be focusing on justice and not waiting for Chad Anderson. Eli could not have killed him—believing otherwise was more than she could bear—but what had gone on between them?

  Why, after all these years, was Eli here?

  Questions circled her like vultures, each ready to seize her at the first sign of surrender. She set the note aside and picked up the date book, slipping off the rubber band—

  But it snapped, too brittle to withstand yet another pull.

  I won’t be like that. Whatever I
find out, I can handle.

  She settled into the creaking desk chair and began to turn the pages. Most of the notations had to do with animals and crops. She determined early on that they had no relationship to the dates in this book but were, more likely, simply a result of her father’s unwillingness to let anything go to waste. Here was paper; he would use it.

  Records of animal feed purchases and inoculations, of seeds sown and times of harvest, along with yields. The stray bits of paper were an assortment of receipts and reminders to himself, each written in the crabbed hand he used to maximize how much information he could record on a single page.

  She turned another sheet, and a tiny envelope fell into her lap. Gently, she set the book aside and turned the envelope over, hesitating when she saw that it was sealed. She felt the contents and realized there was a key inside. She chewed on her lip and reminded herself that all of this belonged to her now. She pressed the brown paper between her fingers, then carefully unfastened the flap and upturned the contents into her hand.

  A key indeed, with no inscription on it, but it looked like—

  A safe deposit box key?

  Papa didn’t own anything valuable enough to need that security, or he hadn’t, all those years ago. He’d cherished her mother’s wedding ring and a lock of her hair, but he’d kept those with him—

  Gaby stifled a sob. Those things had never left his body, encased in a small bag like an Indian totem, worn around his neck. Her parents had been too poor to afford a wedding band for him, but he would not have parted with the one he’d bought for her mother.

  The lock of hair would be ashes. A shudder rippled through her as her mind shied away from the horrifying image she’d been trying very hard not to think about ever since she’d rounded the corner of the house the first day with Chad.

  But the simple gold ring, delicate as it was, would not have burned, would it? Was it still there, in the rubble of the barn in which her father had died? She nearly rose from the chair to go look for it, but everything she’d been holding at bay swamped her, grisly images she hadn’t wanted to imagine. Couldn’t bear to or go mad.