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.
He’d never wanted her so damn much he hadn’t believed he could make it as far as the bedroom.
No. He’d forgotten, that’s all.
“Ciara,” he said roughly, against her lips. “We can’t.”
“Can’t...?” Her body went rigid in his arms. “Oh, God,” she exclaimed, and wrenched herself free. “What am I doing?”
“Same thing I was doing.” His voice sounded like sandpaper.
They stared at each other in mutual shock. And no, he didn’t like seeing her shock. What was so wrong with him? He was the one who had real reason to pause. With the scream of ripping metal, a shout of terror, he’d lost his family in one instant and sworn never to risk being devastated like that again. Divorce wasn’t the same.
She hadn’t liked responding to him the way she had, though. There was no mistaking it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Oh!” She whirled to turn her back on him, hugging herself.
Suddenly sure that had been the exact wrong thing to say, Gabe felt like a shit. But it was the simple truth. He couldn’t lie.
“Please go,” she whispered.
“No.” Damn. He scrubbed a shaking hand over his face. “Wait.”
She didn’t move. He looked at her narrow back, her shoulders hunched, the delicate nape of her neck beneath the bundle of richly colored hair.
“I don’t want to leave things like this,” he said, the words clumsy but true. “I usually keep to myself, but with you and Mark—”
She gave a ragged laugh. “We didn’t give you any choice?”
“It’s not like that. I could have said no.”
At last, Ciara turned to look at him. Her face was drawn and set. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” That was a partial truth. How could he say to her, Because, looking at your kid, I’d have felt like I was kicking a starving stray puppy? “I’ve enjoyed Mark,” he said again. “And you. These dinners here.”
Her eyes searched his, making him fear she was seeing deeper than anyone had in a long time. Or maybe ever. He shifted uncomfortably.
“You just don’t want to get any more involved than you already were,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
The answer should have been, Damn straight. I don’t. Gabe was stunned to realize he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“I want you,” he said. “But you don’t seem like a woman who has casual sex.”
Her expression changed, and he thought, I’ve blown it again.
If anything, her crossed arms tightened around herself. “You’re right. I’m not.”
“My wife died.”
She nodded, no surprise apparent. If she hadn’t heard about the accident from Audrey, she had from someone else. That was a small town for you.
“Since then...” He moved his shoulders uneasily. The couple of times he’d tried to have a sexual relationship with a local woman, he hadn’t struggled like this for the right words. He’d just laid it out. Said, I’m not going there again. Moving in with me, marriage, those aren’t on the table. He knew what Ciara would say to that. On a squeeze of something like anguish, he imagined having no contact with her and Mark. Him living across the pasture, seeing lights in their house, the dog tearing around the pasture, but no eager boy showing up at his workshop, no invitations to dinner. Not doing errands with Ciara, God, never seeing her except from a distance.
Compassion stole over her face when he didn’t continue. “I understand. I...have issues of my own. And you’re right. If we had sex, things would blow up sooner or later, and that would make it difficult to stay neighborly. Mark wouldn’t understand if anything changed. So let’s...let’s just forget this happened, okay?”
He was baffled by the tumult he felt. Wasn’t that what he wanted her to say?
“I don’t know about forgetting,” he said.
Her eyes widened. He couldn’t look away from her.
“I might not be able to forget, either,” she said, so quietly he had to lean forward to hear. “I haven’t...I don’t usually...” She shook herself. “Do you still want that cup of coffee?”
Relief infused him.
“Sure.” This time he stepped back to allow her plenty of space to reach into the cupboard where she stored mugs without accidentally brushing against him. He’d have broken if her body had come into contact with his again so soon.
“I’m surprised Mark hasn’t thought of an excuse to reappear,” she said, in a carefully friendly tone. Let’s share our amusement.
“You lied to him,” Gabe said, remembering.
“Lied?”
“About what we were going to talk about.”
“Oh.” Pink touched her cheeks. “Even mothers need a break sometimes, you know.”
“Goes without saying.”
While she spooned sugar into her mug, he reached for his. He took his coffee black.
“Mark hasn’t said why you pulled him out of school.”
He’d have sworn she stiffened. After a moment, she put the lid back on the sugar bowl and turned to face him. Her jaw seemed to have an extra jut to it.
“He was being bullied. We lived close enough to the school, he walked instead of riding a bus. The last straw was when three boys cornered him on the way home and beat him up. He had two black eyes and a cracked rib. School officials claimed to feel regret and sympathy, but the incident—their word—had occurred off school property and wasn’t really their responsibility. I’d had it.”
He read his newspaper, watched the evening news. “I thought schools were pretty sensitive about bullying issues these days.”
“They pretend to be.” There was suddenly fire in her eyes. “But I guess that’s only when
they can’t blame the victim.”
Gabe mulled that over for a minute. “They thought it was Mark’s fault the boys went after him?”
“Yes!” Vibrating with outrage, it was obvious she’d forgotten the earlier tension. “They suggested counseling. For Mark!”
“So what is it with Mark?” he asked without thinking it through first. “I wasn’t sure it was my business, but I could tell something was wrong.”
Ciara drew herself up. “Wrong?”
Oh, shit, he thought, and slammed the gears into Reverse.
* * *
THE PICKUP TRUCK bumped and swayed across the uneven pasture. Despite the seat belt, Ciara jolted against Mark on one side and Gabe on the other. It was the unintentional contact with Gabe’s big, solid body that had her self-conscious.
Not that she hadn’t been self-conscious since the minute she’d said hello to him that morning. She didn’t know which was worse—thinking about that kiss, or remembering the way she’d blown up at him after he asked about Mark.
As Gabe beat a retreat last night, her parting words were, “And I thought you were different.”
He had paused on the porch and looked at her, deeper than usual lines carved in his forehead. “Can’t say if I am, since I don’t know the background.”
“You don’t need to know it,” she had snapped, and, childishly, slammed the door in his face.
She had almost told Mark this morning that they weren’t going with Gabe, after all. Her mother had called yesterday evening after Gabe left, but Ciara hadn’t said anything about the argument. Mom wouldn’t understand why she’d flipped out over one word. Instead, she spent half the night trying to think up excuses her son would accept, but none of them were very good. And the truth was—she wanted to go. She wanted a chance to apologize.
All she could do was hope Gabe would give her that. Unable to sleep, she had bolstered her belief that he would. Gabe was the one to back away from the kiss because he didn’t want to risk ruining this new, precious friendship, after all.
He liked Mark. He kept saying he did. So she could forgive his ill-chosen word, couldn’t she, as long as he’d forgive her for going off the deep end like that.
She had packed a lunch this morning, as promised, and she and Mark had driven down to Gabe’s place so that he didn’t have to navigate her driveway pulling the horse trailer.
Face unreadable, he’d nodded when they appeared, seeming unsurprised, but scarcely said a word to her during the drive.
Not that he’d have had much chance no matter what, she thought ruefully. Totally wired, Mark had been as bad as he was last night at dinner.
Honestly, by the time they arrived, Ciara felt as if she had to get out of the pickup before she either screamed or burst into tears. She felt intense gratitude when Gabe pulled in at the end of one of two lines of parked pickups and trailers forming an L that, along with a barn and small set of bleachers, boxed in a large fenced arena. Already a herd of cows milled aimlessly in the arena. Gabe had told them the county fairgrounds hadn’t been available this weekend; a swap meet was bravely setting up in defiance of temperatures Ciara still thought were on the chilly side for any outdoor activity. She’d insisted Mark bring his parka and gloves, as she had, although looking ahead through the windshield she could see that most of the people here wore faded jeans and equally faded denim jackets as well as cowboy boots and hats. Only a handful that she could see had added sheepskin-lined coats. A few wore down vests over Western-style shirts.
Gabe set the emergency brake and turned off the engine. Without being obvious, Ciara straightened so she was no longer touching him.
After he got out and settled a dark brown Stetson on his head, Ciara heard voices calling greetings, and Gabe’s laconic answers. Behind them, Aurora trumpeted her own greetings.
Mark’s head turned as he gaped. “Look! An Appaloosa! And there’s a palomino.”
There seemed to be horses present of just about every color and pattern, from mottled gray to dingy white, black with white spots decorating the rump to huge brown-and-white spots that even Ciara knew meant the horse would be described as a pinto. The majority were some shade of brown, sorrel like Hoodoo or the darker red that, with a black mane and tail, was called a bay, according to Mark.
Nervous for all kinds of reasons, Ciara waited until Mark clambered out then hopped out herself, wobbling momentarily on the rough ground with tufts of grass.
“I wish I had a cowboy hat,” he said wistfully.
Apparently, they were de rigueur. She and Mark looked positively naked without them, Ciara had to admit. Even middle-aged women wore cowboy hats here.
They found Gabe already backing Aurora down the ramp. He looped the lead rope through a metal ring attached to the trailer and disappeared inside again, emerging a minute later with a saddle and pad.
“Mark, will you grab the bridle?” he asked. “Oh, I have a spare hat in there. You might see if it fits.”
Ciara smiled tentatively at him. “Thank you. He was just noticing how he’d stand out without one.” The last thing she wanted to say was that Mark rarely paid attention to anything like that. Normally, she’d have said he didn’t notice what anyone else wore, or realize that complying with an unspoken dress code was part of social conformity.
Not that there was anything wrong with his indifference to appearances. Not everyone was a fashion plate.
It seemed to her Gabe’s face relaxed. “I’m costing you money here, you know.”
“I’ve noticed, and we haven’t even put a horse and tack on our shopping list yet.”
He smoothed his hand under the pad he’d laid over Aurora’s back, adjusting the lie of it. “Then come the hay and feed, the vet bills, the farrier’s bills. Yeah, and you’ll need a trailer, and I doubt your van would pull one.”
“So I trade it in for a pickup truck like everyone else is driving.” She rolled her eyes. “I should have looked for swimming lessons.”
He laughed, the flash of white teeth startling her.
Her heart skittered. She’d have said she didn’t like a beard on a man, but she was getting used to his. She’d have liked it better if it didn’t make his expressions even harder to read.
“Hi,” a young voice said behind her. “I don’t know you.”
Ciara turned to see that the speaker was looking at Mark, not her. The girl might have been Mark’s age or even younger, although since she was skinny and didn’t have much of a figure yet, it was hard to tell. A blond braid flopped over her shoulder, and her jeans and boots were well-worn.
“Hi,” Mark said. He handed the bridle to Gabe.
He’d adjusted the battered black felt hat to an angle that mimicked the way Gabe wore his. It was somewhat large for him, making him look young and scrawny, but the girl wasn’t old enough to care.
“I’m Jennifer Weeks,” she said. “Mr. Tennert knows me.”
Gabe tipped his head as he slapped Aurora’s rib cage hard then tightened the girth. “Yes, I do. Jennifer, Mark Malloy and his mother, Mrs. Malloy, are my new next-door neighbors.”
Not that new, she couldn’t help thinking. It had already been over a month since they moved in. The next second, she found herself marveling. Only a month? How had Gabe become so much a part of her and Mark’s lives so fast?
“Are you riding today?” the girl asked.
“No.” Mark’s awkwardness resurfaced. “I’m just learning.”
“I am,” she declared. “You can cheer for me. Do you want to meet my horse?”
His eyes widened. “You have your own?”
“Well, of course I do,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Which one’s yours?”
“You have to wait to see.”
“Can you tell me why stuff happens? Gabe said he would, but he won’t be able to once he goes in the arena.”
Ciara cringed.
“I don’t mind,” the girl said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Um.
..sure.” He looked uncertainly at his mother and Gabe.
Gabe grinned and made a shooing gesture with one hand.
Mark and Jennifer took off, Ciara staring after them.
“It’s okay.” Gabe wasn’t looking at her, but she’d noticed before that he didn’t seem to need a visual to sense her worries. “So long as he shares their enthusiasm for horses, the kids he’ll meet here are friendly.”
“But he’s barely a beginner. What if they make fun of him?” Taunt him? Isolate him? She’d seen it happen over and over.
“He’s knowledgeable. You must know that. He’s done a lot of reading.”
“That’s not the same thing,” she argued.
“Not if he was to be put on horseback, but he won’t be.” He disappeared back around the trailer, not reappearing for several minutes. When he did, he wore chaps. He nodded down the line of trailers. “Walk with me.”
“But how will he find me?” Even Ciara knew that was a dumb thing to ask. This was a ranch, and a modest one at that, not a huge fairground. All that was here in the way of buildings were the couple of barns and a simple farmhouse, painted white like hers and Gabe’s. Whoever had painted this one had gotten wildly imaginative, though, trimming it with black.
“Not a big place,” he said mildly.
She had enough self-control to drop the subject before she came off sounding even more neurotic than she already had. Mark knew enough not to walk too close behind a horse that might get startled and kick him. And if one of the oh-so-friendly kids here was a shit to him, well, that wouldn’t be anything new. He’d find her, and she’d know immediately from the familiar bewilderment and hurt on his face.
Instead of swinging up on Aurora, Gabe led her as he walked beside Ciara behind the row of trailers. He exchanged a few words with everyone they passed still tacking up a horse. She stayed silent most of the way.
“You know everyone?” she asked finally.
“Some better than others.” His shoulders moved. “We don’t get a lot of new folks.”
“That’s why they’re all staring at me,” she realized.
He didn’t say anything, but she saw his jaw tighten. Oh, Lord. Was this the first time he’d brought a woman along to one of these get-togethers?
More Than Neighbors Page 11