“Put your weight on this stirrup and swing your leg over,” he instructed Ciara. “That’s it. Now ease your foot out of the stirrup and let yourself slide down. I’ve got you.”
He wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her until she was on her own two feet. They stood so close, Ciara pinned between him and the horse, that he could have bent his head and rubbed his cheek on her head. Neither of them moved for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Sitting atop the fence, Mark was chattering away, but Gabe couldn’t parse a word. Over the familiar horsey scents, he smelled something tantalizing that had to be uniquely this woman’s. His nostrils flared, and his fingers flexed slightly, finding bare, silky skin beneath the sweater. Sensations seemed heightened. He felt the warmth and give of her flesh and then her quick breath.
God. If they’d been alone—
But they weren’t. It took everything he had to release her and step back. She turned slowly, her eyes meeting his, and he saw awareness to match his as well as wariness and curiosity in them.
His heart gave some hard beats that made him momentarily lightheaded. Think about this later, he ordered himself. It was lucky they weren’t alone. He’d have done something stupid. He knew he would have.
Gabe made a conscious effort to behave normally.
“Mark, you can unsaddle her.”
“Cool!” He launched himself from the fence, and Aurora flung her head up and danced in place.
“Easy,” Gabe reminded him. It was becoming one of his most commonly spoken words, along with slowly and gently.
“Oh. Yeah.” As he unbuckled, his mother ducked between the rails again, putting the fence between her and Gabe.
Just as well, he tried to convince himself.
Nothing happened. Keep it that way.
Ciara started talking, her tone extra bright as she told Mark about the cutting-horse competition. He was as excited as she’d predicted.
“How come you aren’t riding in it?” he asked Gabe, who shrugged.
“We all take turns. I only do it for fun.”
“Do you think someday I’ll ride good enough to be in one?”
“Maybe,” Gabe temporized. “What you’ll see Saturday is how important the horse’s training is. A good cutting horse is smart. It all comes down to how well he and his rider work together.”
Mark was tall enough to handle the saddle without help. He slung it and the blanket over the fence then applied curry comb and brush to Aurora’s sleek brown coat. Her skin shivered in pleasure, making the boy laugh.
Once Mark unbuckled and slipped off the bridle, releasing Aurora, Ciara seemed anxious for them to get home. After they left, Gabe went into the barn and opened Hoodoo’s stall door, giving him an affectionate slap on his rump as he trotted by.
Hoodoo was a hell of a cutting horse, possessing both the smarts and the razor-sharp reactions to have gone far if Gabe had been interested enough to compete at a regional or even national level. He’d turned down a number of offers for the young gelding from more serious competitors. He couldn’t imagine selling either of his horses.
Leaning on the fence, he watched Hoodoo tear around the pasture once just for fun, bucking and kicking as if Watson was nipping at his heels—as he sometimes still did. Gabe had concluded that the dog was only having fun, too, and that Hoodoo didn’t mind the company. Aurora seemed more irritated in her matronly way.
Reluctantly, he let his mind circle back to his intense physical reaction to Ciara Malloy, and to the discovery that his invitation to the competition hadn’t been the casual thing he’d imagined it to be.
If he brought a pretty woman and her son along with him, there’d be talk, thanks to his notoriety as a loner. That was one of the many things he hadn’t thought through in advance.
He grunted. When had he ever paid attention to gossip? Hell, if he was lucky, friends would conclude he’d moved past his grief, and they’d ditch the pity.
Good plan—if that had been the plan. If there’d been a plan at all.
No, Ciara and Mark Malloy had just happened, and he still didn’t quite know how and why.
* * *
WHEN CIARA OPENED the door to Gabe, the first words out of his mouth were, “Where’s Mark?”
It was Friday night, a couple of days later. Mark had been at his place that morning for his usual woodworking/math lesson. He had conveyed his mother’s invitation to dinner, and, once home, reported that Gabe said, “Tell your mother thank you. That sounds good.”
It was starting to feel less like a big deal to ask him, although Ciara wasn’t letting herself analyze the relationship or number of times a week she, and not just Mark, now saw Gabe.
Another thing she tried not to think about was the impact his presence had on her, every single time she saw him. She prayed he had no way of guessing that the sight of him was enough to make her feel like a teenager in the throes of her first mad crush. Right this minute, heat tinged her cheeks, and she felt breathless.
“Hi, Gabe,” she said, and congratulated herself at her blithe unconcern. “I think Mark and Watson went down to the creek. Why?”
His gaze steady on her, he stepped across the doorjamb, his height and broad shoulders dominating the entry. “First time I’ve been here he hasn’t raced out to meet me.”
“Well, he did see you this morning. Here, let me take your coat.”
He shrugged out of it and handed it to her. The sheepskin lining at the neck was warm from his body. She was embarrassed to realize she’d have buried her face in the soft fleece to inhale his scent if he wouldn’t have seen. Her fingers momentarily tightened on the coat before she hung it on the rack she’d found at a Spokane antiques store to make up for the fact that the house had no closet anywhere near the front door.
She suggested he come back to the kitchen and then led the way, her nerves jumping with her awareness of him so close behind her.
“Smells great,” he said the minute he stepped into the kitchen—like he always did. Tonight she’d made a chicken and broccoli dish strongly flavored with curry. Just before the doorbell rang, she’d removed it from the oven to make room for the sourdough biscuits.
In Watson’s absence, Daisy was allowed in the kitchen, and Gabe bent to greet the dog, his voice gruff and yet gentle, while Ciara went to peer unnecessarily into the oven. The biscuits hadn’t been in there long enough even to be tinged with gold. “How’d things go today?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Fine.” A pause, as if Gabe was trying to decide whether he was supposed to say any more. Apparently, he concluded that he should, because he continued. “Mark’s a smart kid. Doesn’t really need my help with the math.”
“At least you understand what he’s working on,” she muttered.
“I do.” His gaze held kindness. “You must have done this stuff in school. I’m sure you could do some review if you had to.”
“I plan to this summer. I can’t expect you to tutor him forever.”
He frowned. “You aren’t putting him in school come fall?”
“No, I intend to homeschool him until he’s ready for college achievement tests.”
“I didn’t realize that,” he said slowly. “I figured you didn’t want him to have to start in a new school so late in the year.”
She faced him, chin jutting. “I told you. I wouldn’t dream of expecting you to help with his math long-term. I’m sure I can do it. He’s thriving with independent study—”
They both heard the back door open.
“Mom, is Gabe here yet?” Mark bellowed, appearing in the kitchen an instant later. “You are!” He didn’t even look at his mother. Instead, he focused with typical intensity on Gabe. “That’s cool, because I looked stuff up online about cutting horses, but I don’t understand some of it.”
He was off and running, not even noticing he’d interrupted a conversation or doubting that Gabe would want to jump right into talking about the subject that currently preoccupied him. Ga
be’s eyebrows flickered, but without displaying anything like annoyance, he answered Mark’s questions patiently.
Not wanting to admit to herself that she was relieved at the interruption, Ciara occupied herself setting the kitchen table instead of asking Mark to do it. After the first couple of times Gabe had eaten with them, she’d switched from the dining room back to the kitchen table. Watson still wasn’t happy to be excluded, but he was less distressed to be one door away from his family than he’d been shut in a lonely bedroom an entire floor away from them. He only whimpered instead of howled.
By the time she’d put out butter, poured drinks and set the still-hot casserole dish on a hot pad in the middle of the table, the biscuits were browning nicely, and she was able to order Mark to wash his hands and sit down. The biscuits went in a basket lined with a cloth napkin.
She offered them to Gabe first.
“I haven’t smelled anything this good in...years.” The hesitation was almost infinitesimal.
Ciara couldn’t fill in the blank, but she knew what he was thinking. He hadn’t had anybody else to cook meals for him on a regular basis since his wife died.
He took two biscuits and immediately split one open, reaching next for the butter, his expression reverent.
Barely pausing to dish up, Mark wanted to know what a “tiedown” was and why it couldn’t be used in cutting-horse competitions.
Gabe obligingly talked about the straps that kept a horse from throwing his head back, and the possible risks of injury for the horse. “A lot of what judges look for in the competition,” he explained, “is a horse that works quickly and efficiently without needing much input from his rider once they’ve committed to a cow. Physical restraints suggest a lack of training or control.”
Next thing Ciara knew, the topic had shifted to other equipment: curb chains, split boots, skid boots. Lord. It sounded like equipment for logging, not horses. Gabe had to be getting bored.
“Kiddo, that’s enough,” she intervened in the briefest of pauses when Mark was catching his breath. “You’ll see all this stuff in action tomorrow. That’s soon enough. Give Gabe a chance to eat, okay?”
Her son stared at her in bewilderment. “But I want to understand everything before I see it. ’Cuz then it’ll be more interesting.”
Gabe had managed to clean his plate and now took a second helping of the chicken. “I’ll explain when I’m outfitting Aurora in the morning.”
Mark’s mouth fell open. “You mean, you’re not taking Hoodoo? I wanted to see you ride Hoodoo.”
“Hoodoo is the better cutting horse, and he doesn’t like playing a supporting role,” Gabe said patiently. “He’d be antsy the whole time, wanting in on the action. Aurora is less excitable. I use her when I’ll be a turnback man or herd holder.”
“I read about those, but it sounds kind of boring just sitting there.” Mark didn’t hide his dissatisfaction. “Which one are you doing? And how come you don’t get to do the cutting?”
“Locally, we tend to take turns. I could have done both, but that would have meant taking both horses, both of them having to take turns tied in the trailer for hours. I don’t want you and your mom to be stuck there the entire day if you get bored, either.”
“You mean, we don’t get to stay all day?” he demanded, expression indignant. “Mom, did you say we couldn’t stay?”
“No,” she said, “but you’re not listening to Gabe, either. I’m betting everyone involved in these competitions takes turns doing things besides riding in the competition.”
“That’s true,” Gabe agreed. “There have to be judges, various people take turns bringing the cattle, ranchers offer the use of their places, plus during every moment of the competition you need two herd holders and two turnback men.” He held up his hand when Mark’s mouth opened immediately. “No, that’s just the terminology. Those riders aren’t always men. Around here, we have quite a few women and girls active in the sport.”
“Girls?” Mark said in obvious shock.
“Excuse me?” Ciara said. “Girl here.”
“You’re not a girl.” He looked at her like she was crazy. “You’re Mom. Plus, you don’t even ride.”
“But she’s going to learn, isn’t she?” Gabe’s mouth curved. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get chaps and cowboy boots on her, and she’ll decide to try cutting.”
“I thought girls barrel raced at rodeos.”
Ciara’s eyes narrowed at the way her son said girls a second time. But he seemed impervious, his gaze fixated on his hero.
Or had Gabe tarnished his status by declining to compete tomorrow on Hoodoo? she wondered in amusement. And supporting the right of mere girls to compete equally.
“That’s the traditional rodeo event for women,” Gabe agreed, “but times are changing. No reason a girl can’t rope as well as a boy, is there?” He nodded toward the basket that held the biscuits. “You mind handing me that, son?”
“Huh? Oh.” Mark pushed it across the table.
“How about if you quit asking questions and eat instead?” Ciara suggested.
Silencing him for long was impossible. He was at his most...well, excitable and persistent tonight, and worry began to stir along with the beginnings of a headache. Had he talked and demanded answers non-stop while he was at Gabe’s this morning, too? She’d seen this plenty of times, when he became fixated on a particular enthusiasm until it became something close to an obsession. It had been one of his problems in school. Most people found his single-mindedness disconcerting. He could drive Gabe away without meaning to.
Gabe had showed up to dinner, not called with an excuse, she reminded herself, so probably Mark hadn’t been as annoying this morning.
Her son was becoming sulky by the time the meal was over. He didn’t like being thwarted.
Needing a break from him, Ciara said she’d clean the kitchen. “You go do something else. Remember we’ll be leaving pretty early in the morning.”
“Eight should do it,” Gabe said. “It’s not that long of a drive.”
“Oh. Okay.” Mark got to his feet and pushed his chair in but then just stood there. “Are you going home?” he asked Gabe.
“I’ll stay and help clear the table, at least.”
“Can’t I stay, too, Mom? I’ll help.”
“No.” The pressure in her head was building. “I want to talk to Gabe about contractors.”
“Why do you have to do that? It’s boring.”
“Mark.” She put enough snap in her voice to let him know she was serious.
Mumbling under his breath, he hung his head and dragged his feet as he left the kitchen. They heard a yip of pleasure from Watson, and a moment later, the sound of Mark trudging up the stairs accompanied by the skitter of claws.
Ciara couldn’t help the sigh that slipped out.
Gabe’s eyes rested on her. “He’s pretty wound up tonight.”
She forced a smile. “Just excited.”
“I hope he isn’t disappointed.”
“If there are plenty of horses to look at, I doubt if he will be,” she said drily, reaching for the casserole dish.
Gabe pushed back his chair and gathered the dirty plates.
“You don’t have to help,” she said, flustered. “You’re a guest.”
“I want to.”
Faced with such a simple answer, she didn’t have any choice but to accede. She found a plastic bowl to hold the leftovers and then reached for ClingWrap.
“What questions do you have?” Gabe asked from right behind her.
She jumped. “Oh. I don’t really have any. Although I suppose I should move ahead with some of the work.”
“What work do you intend to have done?”
She dreamed aloud while he ferried the rest of the dirty dishes to the counter, and she rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. It, at least, was relatively new.
“Ephraim’s son insisted on installing one as his health failed,” Gabe said, after she’d said as mu
ch. “He’d never had a dishwasher. Not sure he actually used it when they weren’t staying.”
“No wonder it’s in such pristine condition.”
He set down the basket and leaned a hip against the counter. Ciara dried her hands on a dish towel. “You’re welcome to the leftovers.”
“There’s enough for you and Mark to have another meal.”
“It’s not one of his favorites, in case you didn’t notice.” She’d had to scrape half his helping off his plate into the garbage, which meant he’d be wanting something else to eat about an hour from now.
“I thought it was just his excitement.”
“Nope. Much to his dismay, I refuse to cook nothing but his limited list of favorites.”
A smile lit Gabe’s eyes.
“Coffee?” she suggested, flustered.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Mugs. She turned too quickly, before he could step back, and bumped into him. Then she stumbled as she tried to retreat.
His hands gripped her upper arms to steady her. His heat and strength penetrated the thin cotton sleeves of her shirt, and for a moment she froze, not looking any higher than his strong brown throat. Then she gabbled, “I’m sorry.”
“Ciara.” His voice was deep, even hoarse, when he spoke her name. Instead of releasing her, he gently squeezed her arms.
Slowly, she raised her gaze to his face. His eyes were dark, compelling.
Ciara’s mouth and tongue shaped his name, but no sound emerged. Head swimming, she knew she couldn’t have looked away from him to save her life. Legs weak, she seemed to be swaying toward him.
The next sound came from him: a groan.
Please let him kiss me, she thought in panic and exhilaration, even though she knew how terribly this would complicate everything.
He bent his head slowly. At the same time, Ciara rose on tiptoe to meet him. She felt his beard first, springy and not quite scratchy, then his lips. They brushed hers softly. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited breathlessly for more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVEN SLAMMED INTO full-blown arousal, Gabe managed to hesitate.
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