More Than Neighbors (11 page)

Gabe wondered if her parents’ votes in major elections canceled each other out, too. The thought amused him.

“Where do they live?”

“Bellevue. Across Lake Washington from Seattle.” The change in her voice was subtle, but there. The openness was gone. She’d been willing to talk about her parents past tense, but wasn’t as happy about present tense.

Knowing he was pushing it, Gabe still asked mildly, “You didn’t want to stay near them?”

“Oh, we mostly email and talk on the phone anyway.” Her tone had become vague. “What about your parents? You sounded as if...” She hesitated.

“They’re both gone.”
Gone
. Nice euphemism. “Dad owned and managed a small airfield. He gave lessons, offered charters.” Gabe had to swallow to say the bad part. “Mom liked to go up with him. There was a mechanical failure. Plane went down and they both died, along with another couple who was with them.”

“Oh, my God,” Ciara whispered. “I’m so sorry. And sorry I asked.”

“It’s okay.” He shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“Were you an adult?”

“Yeah, early twenties.”

“Did you learn to fly?”

He shook his head. “Don’t much like heights.” His father, of course, had been disgusted. His son’s unwillingness to face his fears head-on like a man and learn to fly anyway had been a major bone of contention between them. It hadn’t been the only one. Gerrit Tennert had been a voluble man who was well liked by almost everyone. He’d never understood his son and only child’s introverted nature.

“Bet that caused some conflict,” Ciara said softly.

He grunted agreement.

“I don’t actually like to fly very much, either. I haven’t had occasion to have to very often, fortunately.”

He’d like to think she wasn’t offering that tidbit as a sop to his admission of an unmanly phobia, but knew she was kind enough to do just that.

He made a sound that, hell, was probably another grunt.

“You’ll find plenty to do while I’m browsing?” she asked after a minute.

“Chances are you’ll have to wait for me,” he said honestly. “I like to handpick my wood, especially the accent pieces.”

She smiled at him. “So you’ll be fingering chunks of wood while I’m doing the same to fabrics.”

“Guess there are some parallels,” he admitted. Unfortunately, he could all too well imagine her stroking velvet or silk with a delicate touch. And damn, lately he’d caught himself a few times, when he ran his fingers over a finely sanded piece of wood, wondering if her skin would be even silkier. It would certainly be warmer, more giving. The curves softer, less predictable. And shit, he was getting aroused, thinking about her skin and her touch. He hoped she didn’t glance toward his lap.

“Woodcraft has some specials right now on woods I like to have on hand in my lumber room.”

She coaxed him into talking a little about what woods in particular he was looking for. He told her how Chechen had gotten the secondary name of Black Poisonwood, and that boxwood castello wasn’t really boxwood at all. She liked the names: Zapote, Granadillo, Brownheart. By the time they reached the outskirts of Spokane, he was sorry they were splitting up until lunchtime, after which they’d agreed to go to Costco before going home.

When he dropped her in front of Hancock Fabrics, Ciara gave him a cheeky smile and said, “Have fun,” before hurrying toward the entrance.

He carried a funny feeling under his breastbone as he made his way across town to his own destination, and even as he began shopping. He still didn’t know what impulse had made him ask yesterday if she had any errands in Spokane to do this weekend, but the drive had seemed to pass a lot faster than usual, and he was already anticipating sitting across a table with her while they ate lunch. Talking some more on the drive back to Goodwater. Not like this was a date, of course, but...it was something. Friendship, maybe, although if that was what it was going to be, he’d have to quit thinking about how much he’d like to see her naked.

By the time he helped her pile bags and bags of fabric and what she called “notions” into the canopy-covered bed of his pickup, Gabe had admitted to himself that they were already friends. He’d had half a dozen meals at her house now; he fed her kid lunch several days a week, and even his solitary meals were much improved these days, given the home-baked goodies that wrapped them up. If he didn’t watch it, he was going to have to let his belt out a hole or two pretty soon.

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

“
T
HAT’S IT
. N
ICE
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.”