Chapter Four

      Belle had seen some tough customers in her day, but this guy topped the list. Figuring him to be in his late thirties and about six-nine or so, she’d guess his weight at around three hundred pounds. But he wasn’t fat, just big. Huge. Think Shaq on steroids. He had arms and legs like tree trunks and shoulders wider than a bus grill. He wore jeans and a wind-breaker with enough fabric to make a hang glider. His head was shaved, and a scar curved from the corner of one dark eye to the edge of his grim mouth. She grew very, very still, watching him.

      Then the other door opened, and Skye got out, followed closely by Gus.

      Gabe smiled at the man. “Hello, there, Napoleon. How’s it going?”

      “Fine, Mr. Burrell. Just fine. Good to have you back.”

      “Good to be back. Belle, this is Napoleon Jones, Skye’s assistant.”

      The assistant nodded toward Belle. She nodded back.

      Tiger came running from the house and practically leapt into Napoleon’s arms. The big man laughed, a deep rich sound, and held the wiggling little dog gently against him as Tiger licked his face.

      “How you doing, little guy,” Napoleon said, scratching Tiger’s head as the dog licked some more.

      “Belle,” Skye said, “I see that Mother already has you posing for her.” Skye peeked over Flora’s shoulder at the sketches. “Wow. That’s really something, isn’t it? Mother can see things that no one else does, but I think she’s captured you beautifully.”

      “These are just quick sketches,” Flora said. “The painting will be better. I’ll start on it tomorrow. Shall we go in for lunch? I imagine that Maria has things ready.”

      Once inside at the table, Belle was shocked to see it laden with so much food. Enormous platters of meat and bowls of vegetables, along with salads and a tureen of soup, covered the huge table and sideboard. It looked more like a church potluck dinner than a simple lunch. She wondered about the waste since she and Skye and Flora had only soup and green salad.

      She needn’t have wondered. Napoleon packed it away like no one she’d ever seen—and with four brothers and their friends, she’d seen some world-class eaters in her day.

      When Belle finished, she said to Flora, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go upstairs and freshen up for our errand.”

      “What errand?” Gabe asked.

      “Your mother and I are driving into town.”

      “I need to stop by the gallery, and I need to pick up a few things from Daisy’s,” Flora said.

      “Are you sure that you’re up to the trip?” Gabe asked.

      “I think so. If I get tired, I can wait in the car.”

      “I’ll drive you,” he said.

      Flora winked at Belle. “That means he’ll go along and supervise your activity level.”

      “I’m fully capable of supervising my own activity level.” Belle’s words came out a bit sharper than she’d intended, but she’d never taken to being monitored.

      Skye snorted, then hid it behind a cough.

      Gabe chuckled. “Of course you are. It’s just that I’ve cleared my desk so that I have a couple of free hours, and I was hoping to take you for a drive around the village.”

      “That only takes five minutes,” Skye said.

      “True,” Gabe said. “We’ll circle the square twice.”

      “Don’t forget that cereal,” Suki said. “And it wouldn’t hurt to pick up another quart of honey.”

      Napoleon didn’t say a word. He merely ate. Ralph had kept pace with him for a few minutes, but he’d soon dropped out of the race.

      GABE LOADED two paper-wrapped paintings into the back of his Lexus. He and Flora tried to insist that Belle ride up front with him, but she declined and climbed into the backseat instead, leaving a frustrated Flora to settle for the passenger seat.

      Belle had a sneaking feeling that Flora was eager to play matchmaker. It wouldn’t work. She wasn’t interested in being matched with anyone—not even gorgeous Gabe.

      They drove down the hill’s long, curving road until they came to a gatehouse. Belle was surprised to see that it was manned by a guard.

      Gabe smiled and nodded. “Roscoe.”

      Roscoe, a burly guy who looked like an ex-Marine, nodded back, then peered inside the car before he punched the gate open.

      As they drove through, Belle said, “I’m surprised to see a guard on duty.”

      “We get a lot of folks who don’t realize that ours is a private road,” Gabe said. “And don’t try to hop the fence. It’s electrified to keep our critters in and others out.”

      “Electrified?” Belle said. “That seems a bit excessive.”

      He chuckled. “You don’t know the deer around here. They can be very determined, and Suki has a fit if they get in her pea patch and herb garden.”

      “Suki grows wonderful herbs,” Flora said. “And she’ll be planting her garden soon. Nobody grows vegetables like Suki. Of course Ralph helps her with the heavy work, tilling and such.”

      “With all the limestone, I thought it might be too rocky around here for vegetable gardens,” Belle said.

      “It takes some doing, but there are areas where the soil has been enriched,” Gabe said. “We even have a couple of vineyards around.”

      “Gabriel is a partner in one of them, aren’t you, dear?” Flora said.

      Belle allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about local crops and wine, but she still thought it was odd to have an electrified fence and a guard at the gate. But then, she’d never lived on what could only be called an estate. In East Texas where she’d grown up, cattle guards and barbed wire served the purpose.

      “This is Ranch Road Twelve,” Gabe said. “If you go west and hang a right at Dripping Springs, you’ll get to Austin.

      This way takes us through Wimberley. Keep going and you’ll reach San Marcos. From there you can go north to Austin or south to San Antonio.”

      “That’s our only major grocery store,” Flora said, pointing to a large building on a rise. “And there’s the visitor’s center.”

      “And this is Cypress Creek,” Gabe said as they crossed a bridge that spanned a picturesque stream tumbling over a rocky ledge in a rush through town. “It joins the Blanco River just south of here.”

      “Blanco,” Belle said. “I remember going to Blanco on a field trip when I was in junior high. Aren’t there some dinosaur tracks there?”

      “Yep,” Gabe said, smiling. “In the next county. And this is the square. Except that it isn’t exactly square.” He pulled to a stop in front of a row of shops with wooden storefronts.

      Belle glanced around at the colorful array of buildings. “Where’s the courthouse?”

      “In San Marcos.”

      “Pardon?”

      “The courthouse for Hayes County is in San Marcos, the county seat,” Gabe said.

      “When you said ‘square,’ I assumed that you meant courthouse square. Like our square in Naconiche.”

      “No courthouse here,” Gabe said. “We don’t even have a jail.”

      “What do