Yeah, and her food wasn’t the only reason his pants fit a little too tightly some of the time lately. And that was something he needed to think about.
He already knew the perils of trying to conduct a sexual relationship with a local woman. With Ciara, he’d have to triple or quadruple the risks. She lived right next door. He was spending a lot of time with her son. Worse yet, instinct told him she didn’t have casual sexual encounters. Sure as hell not so close to home, not with her such a dedicated mother.
Besides—how would they ever get away from Mark?
Not happening, Gabe told himself sternly, knowing he should have obeyed his first inclination, which had been to keep his distance from these neighbors. Now— Damn, now it would be hard to start making himself unavailable. All he had to do was picture the pride on Mark’s face when he’d told his mother he’d sawed all the boards for their front steps, or the bewilderment and hurt on Ciara’s face when she said, I wish his father felt the same. Or the soft glow in her eyes when she told him he was a good man.
He struggled most with the realization that he wanted her to keep thinking he was a good man. He wanted to see a time when Mark took for granted that he felt pride in himself. He wanted—
He wanted a hell of a lot he’d sworn he would never try for again.
No, he wasn’t willing to go there. He’d meant his vow. But...maybe he didn’t have to live a life as solitary as he had been. Maybe he could enjoy feeling almost as if the three of them were a family, without investing himself too much in these two other people.
And maybe he was a goddamn fool to risk even that much.
He tuned in to her happily telling him about her shopping expedition—the triumphs, the disappointments, the women she’d talked to, the ideas that had been sparked by unusual fabrics she’d snapped up.
They weren’t running as late as he’d expected, so they stopped for lunch at a café he liked instead of opting for fast food. While they ate, she asked how he’d done, and he found himself telling her about some of his upcoming jobs and about the furniture he made as time allowed.
“I have a couple of outlets for it, one here in Spokane, another in Coeur d’Alene.” Coeur d’Alene, across the border in Idaho, had a beautiful setting on the lake of the same name and was an upscale resort town. The gallery that carried his furniture thrived, and, as a result of what he showed there, he’d had some commissions from customers as far away as San Francisco. The rocking chairs and coffee tables and desks he made were still just a sideline for him, though. Almost a hobby. He wasn’t sure he wanted to change the balance.
“I’d love to see your furniture,” Ciara said, her attention entirely on him. “Do you have a website?”
He snorted, and she smiled.
“No, I guess not. You don’t need to, do you?”
Gabe swallowed a bite of his burger and shook his head. “I turn down as much work as I take. I work regularly with contractors who recommend me both for historic renovations and for new construction. I’m not interested in expanding to the point where I’d have to take on employees. The last thing I need to do is advertise.”
“I can see that,” she said thoughtfully. “Me, I’m new at actually trying to make a living at what I do. Before, it was just something I did for fun that seemed to be taking on a life of its own.”
“I suppose you can live cheaper over here, while you get the business off the ground.” So, sue him—he was curious why she’d chosen to make such a drastic move. He’d hinted at the deeper question before, but she’d shied away from answering it.
“It really wasn’t that.” She bent her head as if concentrating deeply on the remaining half of her chicken-teriyaki sandwich, leading him to suspect she was avoiding his gaze. “I had in mind a rural lifestyle. And, like I told you, I was trying to put some distance between us and Mark’s dad. Once I started browsing real estate online, I was intrigued by this corner of the state.”
He reached for a French fry. “Spring seems to be taking you by surprise, though.”
Her head came up so he could see that cute nose-crinkling thing she did. “Reading about it is one thing. Discovering it gets down close to freezing in April is something else. I guess I should think about buying a cord of wood or so before winter, shouldn’t I?”
The weather was hinting at spring now, in early May. He hoped she wouldn’t be too shocked when next winter rolled around. The climate was a whole lot milder in the Puget Sound area, where she’d come from, than in this part of the state far from the moderating effects of an inland sea.
He educated her on some of the practicalities of life in a harsher climate than what she was used to, warning her to expect, come winter, to lose power now and again, and suggesting she consider adding some insulation as she had work done on the house. “Might make it more comfortable.”
Eventually, he decided she was just picking at the remains of her lunch and asked if she was ready to go.
She looked surprised. “I’m in no hurry if you want some of that pie.”
The array of pies in the glass display case as they came in had been impressive.
Gabe usually did indulge when he was here, but he shook his head. “Can’t compete with your desserts. You’ve spoiled me.”
“Oh.” She blushed. “Well, thank you.”
Instead of splitting up again when they got to Costco, they pushed their carts side by side, him watching as she picked out some jeans and socks for Mark. “He’s growing like a weed,” she grumbled. “I don’t quite dare buy shoes without him trying them on, but these jeans should be safe.” In turn, she eyed some of the frozen dinners he put in his cart along with practicalities like batteries, lightbulbs and an industrial-size box of bandages.
“I nick my hands a lot,” he explained. He held out a hand, which was battered enough to make his point. “Don’t want blood dripping on raw wood.”
Anxiety infused her expression when she looked up from his scarred knuckles. “You won’t let Mark—?”
“We’re careful,” he said gently. “Won’t be the end of the world if he bashes his knuckles a few times, will it?”
“Just so he doesn’t cut a finger off.”
Gabe grinned. “I haven’t done that yet, and I’ve been woodworking for—” he had to think “—twenty-three years now. Since I learned in shop class.”
She waited until they had checked out and loaded their purchases in the bed of his truck along with everything else they’d bought. Not until they were on the road did she ask any more questions.
“Was your house your parents’?”
“Yeah.” He frowned at having to make the admission.
It bothered him sometimes, sleeping in his boyhood bedroom, living with fleeting glimpses of his parents’ ghosts. But at the time, keeping their house and property rather than selling it had seemed to make sense. He had been working for someone else, dreaming about going into business for himself. The barn here had been perfect for a workshop. After selling the airfield, he’d had enough to set up his business. Having already met and married Ginny, he’d been grateful for the bigger house. After she and Abby were gone, he’d given thought to moving. In the home he’d shared with them, they were everywhere. In the end, though, he hadn’t wanted to lose that last, tenuous connection with them. So he’d stayed put, not sure if he was comforting himself or if it qualified as torture. The one thing he’d done was move out of the master bedroom he’d shared with Ginny. He’d given away most everything that belonged to her and stripped the room, but he didn’t like stepping foot in it anyway.
He guessed from the sidelong way Ciara was eyeing him that Audrey had told her about his family, but she was tactful enough not to say anything, and it wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about.
The light in front of them turned green, and he accelerated, glad to have to concentrate on his driving in the busy city traffic. Glad, too, to be leaving it behind. Visits were fine, but after a few hours, he started craving the silence and
solitude of his spread.
Which was neither as quiet nor as solitary as it used to be. It occurred to him that he ought to mind more than he did.
Truth be told—he’d been happier today than he had been in a long time. Unease rippled through him. Now, that should worry him.
CHAPTER SIX
“THAT’S IT. NICE and easy,” Gabe reminded Mark. He watched critically as the boy steered Aurora in a wide circle at a walk. “Remember how sensitive she is to commands. Now, slowly ease back on the reins.”
The quarter horse obediently stopped. Flushed with triumph, Mark grinned. “Can I trot now? Huh? I think she likes me. Don’t you?”
What Gabe thought was that Aurora was being exceptionally patient. When he’d put Mark up on her Monday for the first time, he hadn’t known how she’d handle a novice rider. He’d been more willing to bet on her than Hoodoo, though. In fact, Hoodoo was currently confined to a stall in the barn to keep him out of the way. He’d trumpeted his annoyance a few times, but eventually settled down.
Although Gabe leaned back against the fence, one booted heel hooked on the lowest rail in a pantomime of confidence and relaxation, he’d made sure he was inside the fence, ready to leap to the rescue if needed.
Or, at least to look as if he was ready, in order to placate Mark’s mother.
From outside the fence, Ciara watched today with considerably more tension than Gabe felt. She was keeping her mouth shut, but her fingernails appeared to be biting into the wood of the top rail, as tightly as she gripped it.
“All right,” Gabe agreed. “What are you going to think about?”
“Staying relaxed,” the boy said obediently. “Back straight, don’t tighten my legs too much, let myself move with her.”
“Good.” Gabe reinforced his message with words and tone. Easy does it, he worked to convey. “Loosen the reins just a little...”
“I remember.”
“Are you sure he’s ready for this?” Ciara asked, voice as taut as her posture.
“He trotted the other day and did fine.” Nonetheless, Gabe didn’t take his eyes off the boy and horse.
“What if he falls off?”
Gabe shrugged. “Sooner or later, he will. And then he’ll get right back on and try again. That’s how you learn.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
He found himself grinning and hoped she couldn’t see.
They both watched as Mark gently tightened his legs. Aurora started forward, her walk lengthening into a trot. He kept her moving in a wide circle, just as Gabe had earlier instructed him. He was bouncing high enough from the saddle to raise bruises on that skinny butt and make Gabe wince, but the horse seemed to be taking it in stride.
“She’s trotting,” Mark called as they passed close to Gabe. “Look, Mom! I’m trotting.”
“I see,” she said, waving, then lowered her voice. “He’s not very athletic, you know.”
“I’ve seen that,” Gabe agreed, “but he’s good with his hands when he focuses, and riding is a different skill set than playing soccer or baseball. Balance is important. Centering yourself. The ability to control your movements.”
Her laugh broke. “Mark?”
He took his eyes off the horse and rider long enough to see the genuine terror on her face. Funny, until these two came along, he hadn’t bothered trying to reassure anyone in a long time. Now he did a lot of it.
“This is good for him,” he explained. “I was clumsy at his age, too. Riding, you learn to make small movements. If he sticks to it, I’m betting you see him doing better on his feet, too.”
She gave a small, tight nod.
He raised his voice to reach the boy’s ears. “All right, Mark. Gently steer her into a figure eight.”
The boy’s face showed the same intense concentration Gabe saw on it when Mark used tools in the workshop. He was still flopping around some in the saddle, but less so.
Aurora obediently turned more tightly, crossing the circle of the invisible arena, turning again, all signaled by her rider. The fact that she changed leads the way she should had to do with her training, not her rider, but reminded Gabe that was something they’d have to talk about during a future lesson.
“Back into the wider circle,” Gabe called.
A look of intense concentration on his face, Mark did as commanded.
“Now tighten your legs just a little. She’ll canter.”
Mark nodded, gripping the saddle horn with one hand. A moment later, Aurora broke into a canter, a smoother gait than the trot.
Ciara moaned. “I can’t bear it.”
“He’s doing fine. Watch him. His body is starting to move with the horse.”
Gabe let them canter for a good ten minutes before calling for a trot then a walk. “All right,” he said, “walk her around the pasture for a few minutes to cool her off, but don’t let her take a bite of grass.”
Gabe removed his booted foot from the rail and turned to face Ciara, resting his forearms atop the fence. “You know, maybe we should put you up next. Best way for you to get over being scared to death every time he gets up on horseback.”
“Me?” She tore her gaze from her son to stare at him in shock. “You’re kidding.”
The blue of her eyes had never been as rich as it was now, outside on a sunny day. It wasn’t quite warm, but the mercury had climbed into the high fifties in a nod to spring. Ciara wore a nubby sweater over jeans, her hair loosely captured in some kind of knot at her nape. Fine moment to discover he liked long hair, something he’d never thought about one way or another before. Ginny had kept her fine blond hair in a kind of pixie do that suited her, but left nothing for him to run his fingers through or spread over the pillow. Ciara’s hair caught fire in the sunlight, too. He imagined sifting through it in search of all the myriad colors that made up that distinctive shade of reddish-brown.
He waited to be hit with guilt because the comparison hadn’t been in favor of his pretty wife, but all he felt was a faint echo. Ginny was long gone. If she’d been here, he wouldn’t have even noticed this new neighbor as a woman. That wasn’t the kind of man he was.
Disconcerted, he thought, There’s nothing for me to feel guilty about.
It was the first time he’d ever admitted as much to himself.
“I don’t know,” Ciara said, and he had to struggle to remember what she was expressing doubt about.
Oh, yeah. Getting up on a horse.
“If Mark can do it, you can, too,” he said.
“Well... It might be fun.” She didn’t sound so sure, but he smiled.
“As soon as Mark brings Aurora back, you can have a turn. Just a walk,” he said, before she could protest.
Her gaze fastened on his. “Will you stay close? Until I say otherwise?”
“You have my word.”
Mark had reached the far fence, turned Aurora and started back.
“I’m going to a local cutting-horse competition Saturday,” Gabe heard himself say. “I thought you and Mark might like to come. He’d enjoy watching it. I didn’t want to say anything to him without your okay, though.”
“Are you riding in it?”
“Not to compete,” he said. “I’ll be one of the riders in the arena helping control the herd of cattle while the competition is going on. So I can’t be with you all the time, but you might like meeting some people.” He worked to keep his voice neutral, a little surprised at how much he wanted her to say yes, even though he was suggesting the outing for Mark’s sake, not his. “There’ll be a junior division, so it’ll give him a chance to meet kids his own age, too,” he added.
“That sounds like fun,” she said without hesitation. “And you know he’ll be thrilled.”
He nodded. “Good.” Mark reined Aurora to a stop in front of them, already begging to keep going, but when Gabe said it was his mother’s turn, he dismounted readily. “It’s really fun, Mom,” he enthused.
She didn’t seem eager to move. “Do I climb on
from the fence?” she asked.
Gabe took hold of the reins right below Aurora’s chin as Mark dismounted. “Nope,” he told her, “come on in here.”
After a minute, she bent and slipped between the rails but kept her back pressed to them. “She’s so big.”
Gabe had to coax Ciara into taking the two steps to the horse’s side. Once she’d gotten that brave, he bent, hands cupped, and waited until she placed a foot on his hands. Lifting her, he instructed, “Leg over her back.”
With her arms raised, her sweater rode up to expose a strip of creamy skin. Damn, he thought, relieved when she settled into the saddle and seized the saddle horn in a death grip, the sweater regaining full coverage.
Seeing the way she was holding on, Gabe tried to hide his amusement, but from her glare, wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. She turned it briefly on her son, too.
“Not a word out of you. And if you laugh, I swear I won’t make manicotti again until you turn sixteen.”
Mark pretended to zip his lips.
Gabe cleared his throat to disguise his chuckle as he shortened the stirrups and adjusted Ciara’s sneaker-clad feet in them. “Heels down.” Gripping her ankles, he positioned her feet. “You’ll need boots, too,” he said. Just yesterday, after the first lesson, she’d bought Mark a pair of cowboy boots at the general store in town. His walk had held some extra swagger when he’d arrived in them today.
Gabe pried one of her hands off the horn and showed her how to hold the reins.
Her entire time in the saddle passed with Aurora ambling slowly, her eyes sleepy. Gabe walked right beside her with a hand resting casually on her shoulder.
“You’re doing fine,” he said a couple of times, just as he did to Mark, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ciara gradually relax until her body began to sway with the movement, and her knuckles didn’t show white.
They circled in the pasture for a good ten minutes before he had her ease back on the reins and bring Aurora to a stop by the gate where Mark waited.
More Than Neighbors Page 9
