More Than Neighbors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Oh, Lord, Ciara thought, seized by pity. As the driver, he’d have felt responsible no matter what, but he must have gone over and over the decision not to take the toolbox out of the truck. If he had, his daughter might have lived.

  He couldn’t have known. And maybe she’d have decided to sit behind Mommy so she could see Daddy better anyway.

  “Abby was—” His throat worked. “Ginny lived in a coma for a few days, but I knew. I wasn’t sure she’d want to wake up and find out— But it didn’t happen. Next thing I knew, she was gone.” Pause. “They were both gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ciara whispered.

  “You don’t expect—” He kept looking at the photos for a moment and then faced Ciara. “It’s been a long time.”

  “But you must look at them every time you come in here.”

  “I wanted to hold on to what I could,” he said simply. “But time passes. I sit in my chair—” he nodded toward the recliner “—read the paper, turn on the TV, don’t always give them a thought.”

  She wasn’t sure she could imagine. If Mark— No, the concept was unimaginable. Except it wasn’t, because this man had suffered that loss, the most terrible of all.

  “Neither of them knew. They were both happy when it happened. Maybe there are worse ways to go,” he said.

  “Oh, Gabe,” was all she could manage.

  He looked fully at her, his forehead creasing. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  “It’s you I feel sad for.” She wanted quite desperately to put her arms around him. She saw something in his eyes to make her think he wanted the same, so she stepped forward and his arms closed around her, even as she wrapped hers around his torso and laid her cheek against his chest.

  They stood there for what felt like a long time. He rubbed his face against her hair. She shed a few tears but let his Western-style shirt soak them up. Eventually, she realized one of the pearl snap buttons was embedding itself in her cheek.

  Finally, self-conscious, she stepped back, her gaze flicking guiltily to the mantel, where his wife smiled at the man she had loved.

  Gabe followed Ciara’s gaze then shook his head at her. He had an odd expression on his face. “It’s been a long time,” he repeated, his voice so sure she knew what he was telling her.

  The thought brought a lump to her throat along with a buoyant sensation of hope.

  But...he couldn’t mean what he was suggesting, could he? Unless all he wanted was a lover. If he was thinking about having other children...

  He won’t want them with me, she thought, ice weighing down that hope. Not if he knew.

  Did he have to find out?

  Not if, well, they went on the way they were. Or even if they did become lovers. Maybe she could have that much. He hadn’t kissed her again; he’d hardly touched her since the night in the kitchen. But she knew he wanted her. He couldn’t always hide the appreciation and the heated need in his eyes.

  “You didn’t have a beard,” she blurted out.

  “No.” He lifted a hand to his jaw, rubbed it over his brown whiskers. “I quit shaving then thought, what the hell. Truthfully, though, I’m not sure it isn’t more work than shaving is.”

  But saving work hadn’t been the point, she knew.

  “I might shave it off one of these days,” he said, watching her.

  Was he really asking a question? Ciara smiled tremulously at him. “I like you either way.”

  His eyes warmed. “Good.” He kissed her, the merest brush of his mouth against hers, but enough to make her shiver. Then he said, “I came to say the steaks are ready to go on the grill. Mark wants to help.”

  “Lucky you,” she said, her laugh almost genuine.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  USUALLY GIVING GRAIN to his horses in the evening was a solitary activity. Not usually. Always. Since Ginny and Abby died, and then he’d only had Aurora. Ginny had been as hesitant about riding as Ciara was, but they agreed that Abby, growing up with horses, would be a natural. She had loved being led around or sitting in front of him clutching the saddle horn, safe within the circle of his arm, when he let Aurora canter. In one of the photo albums, he had pictures of his little girl laughing in delight, begging for him to go faster. Faster, Daddy! The voice was barely a whisper now, but he still heard it.

  He’d already bred Aurora when the accident happened. Hoodoo had been born only a couple months later. Part of his instant attachment to the gangly colt had to do with knowing how fascinated Abby would have been. They’d talked constantly about what color the foal might be, whether it would be better if it was a colt or a filly, whether eventually she’d ride Aurora or Aurora’s son or daughter.

  Abby wouldn’t understand if he didn’t love Hoodoo. Selling him was never an option, even though Gabe didn’t need a second horse.

  How many times had he had to justify to himself feeding two? Now, it was a good thing he did have both. Mark wasn’t far away from getting into more serious riding. Gabe had no idea if Ciara could afford a horse for him.

  She was getting more comfortable on horseback, too. He didn’t see her taking up cutting, but thought she’d enjoy trail rides. The time might come when they’d need three...

  He shook his head as he walked back to the house after seeing them off. He could hear a soft crunching sound coming from around the side of the barn. Mark had happily measured out the grain and fed Aurora and Hoodoo. All three of them had leaned against the fence, even Mark seemingly content with the quiet.

  With Ciara to one side, Mark to the other, Gabe had become aware of the strangest sensation. It was as if he’d become hollow, and now life was pouring back into him. It felt damn good at that moment, but these past weeks he’d felt plenty of discomfort, too. Two months ago, he’d told himself he never wanted a close relationship with another human being again. Now he knew he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a matter of coolly weighing risks versus benefits. His heart seemed to be opening despite himself.

  After locking the back door for the night, he went straight through to the living room, wanting to see his wife’s and daughter’s faces again. Earlier, with Ciara, he’d been stunned by the truth of what he said to her: It’s been a long time.

  Another thing he’d have told anyone a few months ago was that the wound was as raw and open as it had been the day he buried the only two people he loved. He guessed he’d known on some level that wasn’t true. When he’d heard himself inviting Ciara to dinner, he understood that he was ready to tell her about them. But not until he’d stood there beside her, seeing her expression and the familiar photos on the mantel, had he realized how much time had healed.

  She was alive and vivid. What he felt when he looked at the photos had become muted. Softened into sadness instead of tearing grief. Gentle affection. Memories. The ability to smile at the happy ones, like Abby singing joyfully if tunelessly. The glance he and Ginny had exchanged just before—

  His throat tightened. Oh, the grief was still there. Still sharp on occasion, but not the same. He had looked at their pictures, looked at the woman beside him who carried wounds of her own, and known he was ready to try again.

  Something he wasn’t sure would have happened if those two hadn’t moved in next door. If Mark wasn’t such an odd duck, so impossible to rebuff. If Ciara didn’t have this need to balance the scales, or maybe just a need to feed people.

  If she wasn’t such a good cook.

  He chuckled, low in his throat. He picked up one of the framed pictures, this one of Ginny beside Abby at three or four years old, both sitting on the fence with Aurora grazing in the background. He gently touched each of their faces with his callused fingertip, then carefully set it back in place.

  He wondered if the day might come when he’d want to display other photographs on the mantel. Put some of these away in albums.

  For the first time in five years, he thought it was possible.

  * * *

  CIARA JUMPED WHEN she heard the doorbell ring, even
though she’d been expecting it. She’d invited him, for Pete’s sake! She hadn’t seen him in three days, since dinner at his house, and she’d been really looking forward to tonight, even before the change in plans that had her ridiculously nervous.

  She made herself take a few slow, deep breaths before she went to let Gabe in, frustrating Watson, who was barking frantically and spinning in circles in front of the door.

  I should have called. Not...not set Gabe up like this.

  It wasn’t like that.

  They could have dinner, if he offered to help clear the table she’d let him, then he’d say good-night and go. Same as always.

  Unless...

  She gulped again and opened the door, letting Watson shoot past her. All he wanted was to greet Gabe, who immediately reached down to stroke his head and tug at his ears.

  He looked so good, wearing his usual jeans, boots and a long-sleeved, dark blue T-shirt. His gray eyes were friendly, a contrast to the first time she’d met him when she and Mark stopped by to introduce themselves. Was it possible he’d trimmed his beard? she wondered. She would swear she could see the bone structure better than before, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. Or maybe it was only because she had seen the picture and now knew what he looked like beneath that close-cropped beard.

  “Where’s the rest of the greeting committee?” he asked.

  Moment of truth. “It’s just us this evening.” She tried for light, almost amused. “I almost called, but...we both have to eat.”

  His expression shifted. “Mark’s not home?”

  The very quality of the air she breathed changed. “Believe it or not, he’s with the Weekses again. Seems he has a new best friend.” His first best friend? She didn’t want to admit that. “Jennifer didn’t have any homework. Heck, with the school year so close to over, teachers probably aren’t bothering to assign any. So, even though it’s a school night, Leslie let her rent The Lone Ranger. She picked up pizza in Colville and they’re going to have ice cream and unlimited soda.”

  His mouth quirked even as he stepped inside. “They’re ready to party.”

  “Apparently. Except...The Lone Ranger?”

  “I don’t see many movies.” He sounded apologetic.

  “I do because of Mark, but we skipped that one. The reviews were pretty awful.”

  “Might be just right for an eleven-year-old and a twelve-year-old.”

  “Is that how old she is?” What a relief, to have something so normal to talk about. “I hadn’t thought to ask.”

  “I think so.” He sounded doubtful. “Could be twelve, too, I guess.”

  “You don’t think—?” She was horrified, although she knew she shouldn’t be.

  His smile deepened. She would swear she could see the crease in his cheek along with crinkles beside his eyes. “I don’t think so, Ciara. She still strikes me as pretty childish.”

  “Mark, too.” Except she realized she wasn’t positive. Mark would be thirteen in only a few weeks. Girls were definitely boy crazy by then. The way she remembered it, seventh-grade boys weren’t all that interested in girls, but were getting more so by eighth grade.

  But there was no way Mark was going to be suave with the girls. What kind of girl would ever be interested in him? Not that there was anything wrong with him. He just wasn’t...

  Ciara gave up, aware of Gabe’s gaze resting on her face. She imagined he was reading her mind. She often had the suspicion he could.

  “Come on back to the kitchen.”

  Conversation remained general as she dished up a chicken in wine sauce flavored by marjoram that Mark didn’t like very well. She had impulsively decided to cook it as soon as he hung up the phone and said eagerly, “Can you drive me over there right now, Mom?”

  Gabe told her about an enormous table he was crafting out of cherry and inlaid with some other woods for a wealthy man in Coeur d’Alene. She talked about a couple of recent projects. She was making several pillows for a woman who had been a Peace Corps volunteer in West Africa twenty years ago. She’d brought back some distinctive fabrics and never done anything with them. After stumbling on Ciara’s website, she’d sent them to her to design and sew pillows.

  “She said she made one herself, but it was awful, and she wanted something classy. It’s fun. The fabrics are amazing. These will be a different look for me. I’m thinking I might see if I can find similar imported fabrics to use for the pillows I sell through boutiques.”

  “It’s like my furniture making,” he said with a nod.

  “Yes, except—” Was it bad to ask? “You didn’t seem to have anything in your house you’ve made.”

  Gabe took his time about answering. He helped himself to more brown rice and then chicken. “I actually do have a couple pieces,” he said. “A rocking chair. And there’s a dresser in my bedroom.” He didn’t say where the rocking chair was. In his daughter’s room? “But you’re right. I meant to replace the kitchen cabinets first. Put it off because the commissions kept coming and then—” He shrugged. Didn’t have to finish. “Not a lot of reason to change anything, I guess.”

  Ciara nodded. There was comfort in the familiar. It would be painful to build the cabinets he knew his wife had wanted, and painful in another way to leave those plans behind and do something different.

  “I wish I could afford you,” she said ruefully. “I’ll bet your customers don’t have to brace their feet to yank open their silverware drawers.”

  She loved the way his eyes smiled before his mouth did.

  “I do try to prevent that.” His voice became a little huskier. “I can give you the good neighbor discount.”

  “Ten percent?” she joked.

  “Closer to eighty.” He sounded serious.

  “I couldn’t let you do that,” she said, shocked.

  “Sure you could. But I don’t suppose it’s at the top of your remodeling list.”

  She followed his gaze to her very old-fashioned kitchen with inadequate storage and counter space, then sighed. “No. I think the bathrooms might come first. And getting the floors refinished before the wood is too damaged.”

  They talked about that a little, but she began to wonder if he was as distracted as she was. She didn’t have much appetite. Most nights Gabe would take a third helping when she offered, but tonight he shook his head. She couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking, but he was definitely thinking hard.

  About her?

  She pushed away from the table and leaped up. “Dessert?” she said brightly. Oh, didn’t she sound like the perfect hostess? “Lemon meringue pie.”

  “Why don’t we wait for a bit,” he suggested. The husky undertone was there again. Very slowly, he rose to his feet, too. “I’d sure like to kiss you again.”

  His directness got to her as flirting wouldn’t have. Her breath froze in her lungs. She gripped the back of her chair, not sure if her knees would otherwise have held her up. “Yes,” she whispered, knowing this was what she’d wanted, why she hadn’t called to suggest he come tomorrow night instead.

  In two steps, he closed the distance between them. With one big hand, he lifted her chin. His eyes were stormy, intense.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  Any other time, she’d have argued. Said, Don’t pretend. Of course I’m not. But...she really believed he did think so. There’d been electricity between them almost from the first. She remembered thinking he wasn’t anywhere near as handsome as Jeff, then the next second realizing how little that mattered. He was pure male. He didn’t need to put on the charm for her to find him compelling.

  She reached up and laid her hand against his jaw and cheek. The scratchy/soft texture of his beard against her palm was unbearably sensual. Her skin tingled as she imagined him rubbing his face against her breasts. She had a bad feeling her nipples were already tightening.

  Gabe made a ragged sound and bent his head. Just like the last time, she met his mouth with need she didn’t even try to disguise. The kiss was almo
st instantly explosive.

  Even so, Gabe was still careful. Almost gentle. His tongue stroked, but it didn’t stab. The sensation of being savored was astonishingly seductive.

  She teased him with her tongue and the edges of her teeth, reveling in his shudders of reaction, the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched, the involuntary sounds he made. A few slipped from between her lips, too, when he kissed his way across her cheek to nip her earlobe and then explore the sensitive skin behind it.

  The feel of his mouth along with the soft brush of his beard on her neck had her shivering, letting her head fall back. One big hand enclosed her breast and gently squeezed and rubbed. Her knees became rubbery.

  “Gabe. Gabe.”

  He groaned and lifted his head. Dark color ran across his cheeks above his beard. “I want you, Ciara.”

  “Yes. Please,” she added.

  The assessing look he cast toward the counter shocked and intrigued her, but she’d left everything from crusted pans to spice jars scattered all over it. There wasn’t room for... Well. She’d never done anything like that, but she couldn’t help imagining him standing in front of her, her legs locked around his hips...

  His gaze went back to hers. “Upstairs?” he asked hoarsely.

  She nodded, grabbed his hand and led him.

  Through the swinging door, Watson greeted them with delight. Even Daisy heaved herself to her feet. Ciara ignored both. She didn’t look at Gabe as they mounted the stairs, but didn’t let go, either.

  Don’t chicken out. Then, Don’t let him change his mind.

  He was so close behind her, she could feel the heat of his strong body as they entered her bedroom. He closed the door firmly before the dog could follow them.

  The room wasn’t very big; none of the bedrooms in a house of this era were. She had only a double bed, which wasn’t really large enough for him. He didn’t even look toward it. His eyes, molten and intense, never left her face.