“There’s Mark,” he noted.
Ciara followed his gaze to see her son surrounded by a good-size group of other kids of varying ages. A couple had to be upperclassmen in high school, and one boy both smaller and skinnier than Mark couldn’t be more than nine or ten, at a guess. Several held the reins of their patiently waiting horses. Mark was currently stroking the nose of the palomino he’d admired when they arrived. It appeared that he—she?—belonged to Jennifer Weeks.
“They’re mostly nice,” Gabe remarked, as if he felt her anxiety. “This gives him a chance to start making friends.”
Mark had never had a real friend. Sometimes there were other boys he ate lunch with or paired up with for PE, always the nerds like him. Unfortunately, they tended to have their own passions that rarely intersected Mark’s. She remembered one time when she was driving carpool, listening to Mark and another boy in the backseat. The other boy—Edward—was fascinated by space exploration. He went on and on about the space station and walking in space. Mark had lectured him in turn on the species that made the Galapagos Islands home. She hadn’t been able to tell if they even listened to each other.
“That’s why you suggested this, isn’t it? So Mark could meet other kids.” It was absurd to feel hurt. She’d known all along the invitation had been extended for Mark’s sake, not hers.
“Partly,” Gabe agreed. He was looking straight ahead and frowning, as if something she’d said had bothered him.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I mean, about last night. It’s just...a hot button of mine.”
“I noticed.” There might have been a tinge of amusement in his tone. He lifted a hand in response to another greeting. A good minute passed before he said, “It was my fault. I’m not always good with words.”
Her feet quit moving. “I was awful.”
“No, Ciara.” That deep, quiet voice had never been so tender. It affected her as powerfully as a touch. His touch.
She lifted her gaze to his, to see...she couldn’t quite tell. Understanding? Kindness? Something more that made her chest ache?
“I’m being called,” he said suddenly. A moment later he was on horseback, looking completely natural. He wouldn’t have been out of place riding into town in Tombstone, she thought.
Except for the lack of holster and gun, she amended.
Ciara took a couple of cautious steps back when Aurora pranced, apparently anticipating entering the arena.
Gabe looked down at her, the Stetson shadowing his eyes.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
She felt a spurt of panic. He regretted bringing her?
“I invited you, and now I’m deserting you.”
Past a lump in her throat, Ciara said, “I’ll be fine. Go have fun.”
After a moment, he touched one finger to the brim of his hat, and, in response to some invisible signal from him, Aurora broke into a trot. A moment later, he’d joined several other horsemen beside the arena. Someone on foot opened a gate, and five riders entered the arena.
The cows began to low.
* * *
CIARA WASN’T ON her own for long. She’d barely found a place on the bleachers when two women climbed to her row and sat beside her.
The rawhide lean one with weather-beaten skin and graying brown hair stuck out a hand. “Nadine Shreve. This is my husband’s and my place.”
“Oh. It’s nice you’re hosting the competition.”
“We train cutting horses professionally,” she explained. “We have something like this going on about once a month, weather permitting. Gives us a chance to work our horses and show ’em off, too.”
The second woman, probably in her thirties, leaned forward and smiled. “I’m Leslie Weeks. My husband’s the other herd holder. With Gabe?”
“You’re Jennifer’s mother,” Ciara said with interest.
She smiled. “That’s right. I suppose she nabbed your boy right away. Not a shy bone in her body, that girl.”
Ciara laughed. “I could tell. But that’s good. Mark was feeling shy. He’s barely learning to ride, so he was afraid he’d be a fish out of water today.” Like he always is, she didn’t say.
“You two came with Gabe, didn’t you?” Nadine asked.
Both women waited with unblinking interest.
“Yes. I bought the place next door to his. He’s been really nice to Mark,” she told them cheerfully. For his sake, she’d better make it plain right away that their relationship was not romantic. “He’s giving him some woodworking lessons, and now putting him up on one of his horses, too.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw activity starting in the ring. “I’ve never seen a cutting horse work. Will you explain what’s happening?”
She had a suspicion they weren’t done grilling her, but proved willing to give her some history of the sport and tell her what Gabe and the other three riders posted around the arena were doing while the competitor rode quietly into the herd.
None of it was what she’d expected, which resembled more a sort of mini-stampede. Instead, the cattle seemed to hardly notice the horse moving among them. The activity didn’t pick up until the rider apparently selected an individual cow and began edging him out of the herd. Even then, the rest of the herd mostly remained calm at one end of the arena. The only panic was on the part of the young steer that had been separated from the others. She was reminded of Watson when they shut him away by himself.
Leaning forward, fascinated, Ciara saw immediately what Gabe had meant when he talked about the horse’s training being all important. The poor cow was desperate to get back to the safety of the others and kept trying to race by the horseman. As far as she could tell, the rider did nothing from that point on but sit in the saddle as his horse spun on its haunches, leaping explosively forward just enough to keep the steer isolated. After what was obviously a set amount of time, he backed off and let the steer go. Then he rode back into the herd, chose another victim, and the dance started all over again.
Nadine explained that, to get good points, the rider had to select a cow from the center of the herd, not the edges. It was called a “deep cut,” she said.
“Rafe will be marked down some now,” Leslie added. “See how he’s getting the herd stirred up? Gabe and Larry are having to work to keep them together and at that end of the arena. Needing that kind of help from the herdholders brings a penalty.”
Indeed, Aurora was doing some dancing of her own, Gabe a still center as she effortlessly outthought her opponents.
“Rafe’s new at this.” Nadine sounded forgiving. “Bought his horse from us.”
The competitor drove a black steer out, and the herd settled down. Ciara looked away to locate Mark, who stood at the fence with several of the other kids, watching. Just as he’d seen Gabe do, he’d crossed his arms casually on the top rail.
A lump formed in her throat. Was there any chance he really would make friends around here? That these kids were less judgmental, maybe less inclined to join cliques? She had trouble believing that; human nature didn’t vary that much. But cultural values did, she reminded herself, and Goodwater and its environs were an entirely different world than the busy Seattle suburb that was home to endless strip malls and every chain store in existence, as well as close-packed apartment complexes and neighborhoods filled with homeowners who disappeared every day to work, many at the nearby, huge Boeing plant. Maybe the differences had to do with the effects of crowding. There were so few people here. She’d have guessed that made them less tolerant, but maybe she was wrong.
This wasn’t like school anyway, she reminded herself. These kids weren’t doing much talking. Mostly they were watching.
Every so often, in a down moment between riders, Gabe’s head turned, and she realized he was keeping an eye on both her and Mark. A couple of times, looking at her, he did that almost-salute thing with the brim of his hat. Of course, that intrigued the women around Ciara.
As competitors came and went in the arena, t
he crowd around her grew. She’d never been the object of so much curiosity. She couldn’t tell entirely whether being a newcomer was enough of a draw, or whether her connection to Gabe Tennert gave her the equivalent of a flashing neon light on her forehead.
“He’s never brought anybody to one of these things,” a woman named Marcia Wright said, adding with something like awe, “Not once.”
Ciara was incautious enough to say, “But he must have brought his wife.”
“Well, yes, but that was a long time ago. It’s been, what, five years?” She looked to the other women for confirmation. General nods and murmurs of “About that” settled the question.
So now she knew, Ciara thought. That was a long time to be by himself.
She’d read that men were more inclined than women to go straight from one marriage to the next, although admittedly most had been divorced rather than lost their wives to a shocking death.
Daughter, too, she reminded herself. Of course that would have magnified the tragedy beyond imagining.
She could tell no one bought her repeated explanation that really Gabe was being kind to Mark, so after a while she quit bothering to make it.
Fortunately, the women were polite enough to accept that their raging curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied, not today. Conversation went a hundred different ways. They asked questions about her business. Several quilted, which gave them a common interest. She learned about a number of active community groups, a rock club with adults who loved to encourage interested kids, as well as some summer happenings that might interest Mark. She learned even more about cutting horses and the skill of riders, as one performance after another was critiqued in a kindly way.
Some of the women absented themselves only to appear in the arena as competitors themselves. Eventually, Gabe and the others drove the herd of cattle out of the arena and into a stock trailer backed up to the gate. Another trailer took its place and a fresh herd entered the ring, lowing and trotting around in confusion.
Gabe and the other three riders left through a hastily opened gate and were replaced. So he wasn’t going to be in there all day. Or maybe this was just a lunch break.
She excused herself and followed him back around the row of trucks and trailers to his, where he was unsaddling Aurora.
“Bored yet?” he asked.
“No, it was interesting. I admit I’m hungry, though.”
He smiled. “Me, too. I kept thinking about those cookies Mark mentioned.”
Today’s were snickerdoodles, apparently another favorite of Gabe’s. She hadn’t yet hit on anything he didn’t like.
Mark arrived, begging for them to stay so he could watch the junior division. It developed that Gabe had brought a couple of lawn chairs, which he carried around in front of his truck, where they could sit and watch while they ate, their view only slightly impeded by the fence rails. Truthfully, Ciara didn’t mind. Without an educated eye, one rider and horse were beginning to look an awful lot like the next.
Gabe’s comments about performances were few and laconic, and essentially kind. A few participants either showed or bred cutting horses professionally, but for most people here, this was fun.
The kids were noticeably less skilled—a couple actually fell off their horses, but got back on and continued. Red-faced, of course. The first time, Mark started to hoot, but Gabe silenced him with a hand on his arm.
“Got to learn somehow,” he said quietly. “You won’t want anyone laughing at you.”
After finishing his lunch, Mark took off to rejoin the crowd of other kids. Gabe asked if she’d prefer to sit on the bleachers.
“Whatever you’d like,” she said. “I’m happy here, but if you want to visit with friends—”
He shook his head. “I’m not much for visiting.”
Except with her and Mark, Ciara thought with a funny squeeze of pleasure as she realized how completely he had broken the mold once he met them.
This feels right, she acknowledged, sitting beside him, listening for his dry humor, feeling content just because he was there.
Pleasure became something else as her heart constricted. She was in such trouble. Gabe wouldn’t want her and Mark full-time, forever. He’d made that plain. She couldn’t make the mistake of letting herself dream.
“Mark’s green with envy,” Gabe commented, and she followed his gaze to see that Jennifer had just ridden into the arena on her palomino. It wasn’t hard to spot her son watching, his expression easy to read.
She closed her eyes on another stab of pleasure/pain. Gabe was still keeping an eye out for Mark, as if doing so came naturally to him.
As if he was Mark’s father.
It won’t last, she told herself. Mark had had teachers before who started the year positive but lost patience with him. This wouldn’t be any different. She couldn’t expect any different.
Gabe chuckled low in his throat, and she opened her eyes to see cow and girl face off with near identical expressions on their faces.
Ciara took a deep breath. Damn it, she could revel in the moment, couldn’t she? Was that too much to ask?
A few minutes later, Jennifer was grinning in triumph as she backed her horse off and let the steer trot back to the herd. Mark was applauding like mad right along with the other boys beside him.
Like one of the guys, she thought in bemusement.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS MARK who gave Gabe the opening he guessed he’d been subconsciously waiting for.
After the little skirmish with Ciara over his poor choice of words, Gabe had made up his mind to back off. He wasn’t making any long-term commitment to either her or her son, which meant the boy’s issues weren’t his business. He sure as hell had no right to judge her decisions.
But damn, the itch to know more about these two people didn’t go away. It was just there, a constant irritation that got more and more insistent until it was rubbing itself raw like a saddle sore. What would drive a woman like her to change her life so drastically? Given the limited formal education she had admitted to, he couldn’t imagine she’d ever expected to turn her back on the public schools and educate her own kid. And the move over here, so far from her parents as well as her ex, not to mention from malls and movie theaters, fast-food restaurants and friends, indicated motivation that had to go deeper than feeling Mark wasn’t being adequately protected at school.
He resisted the impulse to scratch that itch during the next week, though. For one thing, he didn’t want to endanger a relationship that was coming to mean too much to him. For another...well, it was his way to think long and hard before he formed an opinion, never mind made it known to someone who might not want to hear what he thought.
But today he’d “borrowed” Mark with his mother’s permission to help install kitchen cabinets at a new construction in Post Falls, Idaho. He didn’t mind spending the day with the boy, and Mark had shown enough aptitude for woodworking and interest in cabinetmaking, Gabe thought he might enjoy seeing how it all came together on the job site. Sure, the contractor would provide the help Gabe needed, but there was no reason he couldn’t bring his own labor, was there?
The drive passed quickly enough. Mark never ran short of things to say. For long stretches, all Gabe had to do was grunt now and again. He couldn’t say he was bored, though; the kid had a quick mind and a bottomless sense of curiosity.
Once they arrived, Gabe did his best to turn the job into a classroom for Mark while still accomplishing his own goals. Mark learned how to locate studs, and already understood why Gabe measured and marked carefully before he so much as touched a cabinet. Being perfectionists was something they had in common.
The carcasses of solid wood cabinets were damned heavy, even without drawers and doors. Mark proved to be stronger than he looked when it came to helping hold upper cabinets in place as Gabe drilled pilot holes, set the first couple of screws in place and then meticulously made sure the top was level and the front edge plumb before continuing the instal
lation.
As usual, they hung the upper cabinets before starting on the lower ones. Despite the best measurements and planning he had been able to do, he still had to tap some shims into place to achieve the results he wanted. No drawer in one of his cabinets would stick because of a subtle skewing. He was paid to produce the best, and he did.
Mark’s focus as he worked wasn’t that different from Gabe’s, and the boy fit in just fine with the construction workers at the house. The two of them finished and left right on time to get home for dinner, to which Ciara had invited Gabe.
Man, he was getting spoiled. He hadn’t stopped for a solitary burger in weeks now. This almost felt like—
He stopped himself before he could complete the thought. Not going there, remember?
They hadn’t been on the road more than a few minutes when, out of the blue, Mark said, “Were you always good at math in school?”
Wondering what inspired the question, Gabe said, “In math, I was. It came easily to me.” He hesitated only briefly. “Reading was different. It still doesn’t come easy. I’m dyslexic.”
Mark kind of knew what that meant, but they talked about Gabe’s particular form of it. The boy had a little trouble imagining how letters could reverse themselves to Gabe’s perception when really they stayed right where they were supposed to be on the page.
“Means I didn’t do real well in school,” Gabe admitted. “I still read slowly.” He glanced at Mark. “You haven’t said much about your other lessons. You do okay in social studies and the like?”
“Yeah, it’s mostly really easy.” He grimaced. “Some of it is awfully boring, though. I mean, it’s just, like, reading and worksheets. Mom thought we could do more with some really cool websites.”
“Until you found out we have only dial-up.”
“Yeah. And I don’t care about stuff like government. I’m more interested in sciences. I wish I had a real lab. And Mom says we’ll go on field trips, but then we never do ’cuz she’s always working.”
“You didn’t move that long ago,” Gabe pointed out. “It must be tough for a parent who has to work full-time to homeschool, too.”
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