More Than Neighbors (13 page)

“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. Gabe’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 much. “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

E
VEN SLAMMED INTO
full-blown arousal, Gabe managed to hesitate.

You weren’t going to do this, remember?

But now he knew the plump, soft texture of her lips, the heady scent of her hair, the pleasure of having her pushing up eagerly to meet his kiss.

A second groan was torn from him, and this time he dove deep. His tongue sampled the warm, silky depths of her mouth, and one of his hands clamped over her ass to lift her higher and pull her tight against him.

His back to the countertop, he separated his legs enough to tug her to stand caged between his thighs. His other hand plunged into her hair, cupping the back of her head to hold her so he could kiss her harder, deeper. He had gone blind and deaf; all he knew was the intoxicating taste of her, the sensation of full-length contact with that long, lithe body he’d been watching since the first time he set eyes on her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this couldn’t go any further. Spinning her around to set her on the counter, stripping her jeans off, burying himself inside her here and now wasn’t an option, however desperately he wanted to do exactly that. Shock tugged at him. Where had that idea come from? He’d never in his life had sex anywhere except in his truck or in a bed.

Ciara cupped his jaw, rubbing her fine-boned hand in circles as if savoring the texture of his beard. He turned his mouth from hers long enough to kiss her palm and then nip her thumb.

“Gabe,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to his neck. He’d have sworn he felt the damp flick of her tongue. The damp touch felt like an electrical shock.

God help him, he hurt.

Can’t have her. Not now.

Why?

A faint rattle penetrated his intense absorption in her body, her scent and his own aching need.

Dog tags. The old dog, giving herself a shake.

The kid and the other dog were in the house. They could come downstairs and burst into the kitchen at any minute. That’s why he couldn’t make love to her right now.

Her mouth sought his, and he couldn’t help kissing her again, but this time he kept it lighter. Teasing. A brush, a nip. He gently sucked her lower lip.

He’d never wanted a woman the way he did this one.

The thought was like a bucket of icy water. That was crazy. What about Ginny? He’d loved his wife.