At ten to five Beatrice told him there was a call for him. Earl? Again?

“What now?” he barked into the phone.

“Gabe? How’s it going, then?” It was Randall, not Earl. A nervous, worried Randall, from the sound of him. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right! What do you think?” Gabe might have groused at Earl less than an hour before, but he damned well wasn’t going to complain to Randall.

One word from him and his duty-driven cousin would be on the next plane home.

“I just…thought you might need a little moral support.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m fine. No problem,” he lied through his teeth.

“Really?” Randall sounded dubious, but cautiously pleased.

“Nothing to worry about,” Gabe said. “A child could do it.” A child with access to explosives. “How are things at your end?”

“Fine,” Randall said quickly and with excessive cheer. “Couldn’t be better.”

So Mr. Competent wasn’t having any problems? Gabe felt oddly nettled. And more determined than ever to prove himself here. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Well, go find something to do. Cut wood. Feed the cattle. Sit in front of a roaring fire. Relax, damn it. And stop calling me up!”

“I was only checking,” Randall said. “I’m…glad everything’s going so well.”

“It is,” Gabe said firmly. “Don’t call me again. Goodbye.”

It was six o’clock, cold and damp and well past dark by the time he left the office. He made three trips to his car, lugging every piece of business correspondence he could find, all the ledgers and the last five years’ worth of past papers to read. Then he got in and headed back toward the abbey.

He had no intention of going to the abbey, of course. He turned in at the dower house. It sat warm and welcoming on the hill, its windows cheerfully lit behind the trees. It was the one good thing in his life at the moment.