More Than Neighbors Page 15

  “Wait,” he said urgently. “You’ve got to tell me what to send him for his birthday.”

  At least he remembered that his son had an upcoming birthday. Of course, if he actually knew him, he wouldn’t need suggestions from her. She gave a few nonetheless, and he said, “Yeah, the software sounds good. Uh...you two are doing okay in...what’s it called? Backwater, Washington?”

  “You know perfectly well it’s Goodwater.”

  “What is it with you? You can’t laugh at a joke?”

  His jokes always came with a barb, the kind that tore into her skin. Even in the early days, he’d reacted as if she was the one lacking when she didn’t find some crack of his to be funny.

  “Ha ha. We’re fine, Jeff. The move was good for us.”

  “How can it be?” He sounded incredulous.

  “We have a neighbor who is spending time with Mark.” On a rush of warmth, she thought how good it felt to be able to say this. To picture the self-contained man whose eyes were nonetheless so kind...when they didn’t heat with an emotion that wasn’t kind at all. Like they had when she backed away from him today and almost fell over her own feet.

  She knew what he wanted, and she wanted it as much. If only the complications didn’t scare her so much.

  “Spending time with him?” Jeff said suspiciously. “Why?”

  “He’s a cabinetmaker. He’s teaching Mark to work with wood. He’s also giving him horseback riding lessons.”

  “And you don’t wonder, just a little, what’s behind this? I mean, let’s face it, nobody without some ulterior motive wants to spend time with Mark. Count on it, this guy’s either got his eye on you, or on Mark.”

  Both angry and sad, she shook her head. How on earth had she ever imagined she loved this man?

  “Don’t you dare say anything like that to Mark. I’ll get him for you.” Refusing to hear another word, she pressed the phone to her stomach.

  When she called up the stairs for him, Mark galloped down. “It’s Dad?” His face was alight with hope.

  She managed a smile. “Yep.”

  He took the phone outside, already talking a mile a minute about Watson and Daisy and...

  * * *

  SHE DELIBERATELY HADN’T asked Gabe to dinner the next evening. Two nights in a row...well, that would make it seem as if, oh, he belonged here. A couple of times a week was enough, she assured herself. Maybe three times. Or, if there was a special reason, four times.

  But she was so hungry for someone to talk to, she regretted not asking him again.

  Mom would understand if she wanted to grumble about Jeff, of course, but...it wasn’t her mother she wanted to talk to. It was Gabe.

  She kept remembering how he listened and seemed interested. If he really wasn’t, he wouldn’t keep making time for Mark, would he?

  So she waited until Mark had said good-night and disappeared into his room, then went downstairs to the kitchen where he wouldn’t hear her voice. From the window over the sink, she could see lights still on in Gabe’s house.

  He answered on the third ring with her name. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just, oh, wanted to grumble for a minute, and I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

  He chuckled. “Everyone needs to grumble.”

  Absurdly, that was all it took to lessen the anger she’d been carrying around since she’d seen Mark’s face yesterday, after he talked to his father.

  “Did Mark tell you his dad called last night, after you left?”

  “No.” He paused. “Now that I think about it, he was a little quieter than usual this morning.”

  “Quiet isn’t a word I usually associate with Mark.”

  He laughed again. “No, he’s a talker.”

  “Why can’t his father be anything like you?” she burst out with and then gulped. Oh, no. Did I say that?

  The small pool of silence had her clutching the phone and staring through the dark to the golden square of what she knew to be his kitchen window. She couldn’t see even a shadow that suggested he was looking out toward her, but she imagined he was. What must he be thinking?

  “I mean, you seem to understand Mark,” she said hastily. “Jeff won’t even try.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Mark won’t tell me. But when he handed me the phone, he was...really subdued.” He’d looked crushed. “When I asked what was wrong, he just shrugged.”

  “You want me to see if he’ll talk about it?”

  “You’d do that?” Then she shook her head. “I can’t expect you to do counseling along with everything else. It was...” Oh, why not tell him? Wasn’t that why she’d called? “Part of what made me so mad was that when I talked to Jeff briefly and mentioned you, he couldn’t understand why you’d want to spend time with Mark. God knows, he doesn’t want to.”

  She hoped he didn’t read between the lines and guess what Jeff had insinuated.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, in that gentle way he had.

  “Mark said you pointed out that he does take after his father in some ways.”

  “He told me his father is in finance.”

  “Yes, he has an MBA. He was never a reader.”

  “Mark said once he doesn’t like fiction.”

  She smiled, relaxing again. “Nope. He’s only interested in things that are real. And...not so much in human motivations, which are big in novels. I mean, ‘whodunit’ is really ‘who would have had reason to do it’, right?”

  Oh, she loved Gabe’s laugh.

  “I’m not sure a lot of stuff teenage boys read or the movies they see have much to do with human motivations. Think monsters from outer space or bionic superheroes, and you’ll be more in the ballpark.”

  She laughed, too. “Okay, you have a point.”

  There was another silence. At last Gabe said, “Would Mark be better off if he didn’t talk to his father at all?”

  She closed her eyes. “Sometimes I think so, but then— How would he feel, knowing his own father didn’t care at all? Isn’t some relationship better than none?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t, either,” she admitted. “I told you, Jeff is one of the reasons I moved to the other side of the state.”

  “I hope it turns out to be a good decision for both of you.”

  So did she. So far... She trembled at her realization. So far, it might be the best decision she’d ever made—because of Gabe. All because of Gabe.

  He couldn’t know. She shouldn’t have called him. She couldn’t even imagine what he thought, when this woman next door called late at night as if...as if they were best friends.

  Or more.

  I want to be more.

  She didn’t dare let more happen, not when her first priority was Mark. Gabe was good with him, but he wouldn’t want to take him on full-time. Even assuming he was thinking about her that way.

  She was getting way ahead of herself. And she needed to get off the phone now.

  “Thanks for listening to me,” she said, trying to sound a little amused at herself. “I saw your lights on and hoped you wouldn’t mind if I vented for a minute. I won’t make a habit of it, I promise!”

  “I don’t mind.” His voice was quiet and serious. “I...like that you called me.”

  Her heart thudded as if she’d raced down to his place and back. “Thank you for saying that,” she said softly.

  “Good night, Ciara.”

  Her “Good night” was barely a whisper.

  She stayed at the window for a long time, unable to look away from the lights on in his house, trying to picture what he was doing, whether he still wore his usual casual garb and work boots, or instead padded around at night in socks or even bare feet. Maybe she’d caught him already getting ready for bed—she knew how early he started work in the morning. Did he wear pajamas? Or...not bother with anything at all when he went to bed?

  Her mind immediately leaped into new fantasies. She let out the tiniest of whimpers and knew sh
e should try to distract herself with a book. She sure wouldn’t be falling asleep in the near future, not with the honeyed warmth of arousal making her whole body feel alive in a way it hadn’t in forever.

  * * *

  CIARA SMILED OVER her shoulder at Gabe as she reached into a cupboard for mugs. “It’s warm enough tonight, why don’t we sit out on the porch?”

  He could think of a reason that wouldn’t be a really good idea, but felt sure the idea of the two of them using the darkness for privacy to go at it hot and heavy hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  “Sure,” he heard himself say. “Moon’s near full.” He’d noticed last night how fat and round it was as he stood out on his back stoop.

  Once the two adults had started talking about subjects that didn’t interest him, Mark had sat down at the computer in a corner of the kitchen and immediately become engrossed, seemingly forgetting Gabe and his mother were even there.

  Ciara had poured the coffee and handed Gabe his then touched Mark’s shoulder. “We’re going out on the porch.”

  He didn’t react in any visible way.

  Smiling, she shook her head as she let the kitchen door swing shut behind them. “I’ve never known anyone who could concentrate like Mark does,” she said. “I can see him as a surgeon, but not, oh, an airline pilot, where he has to pay attention to information coming from a bunch of different sources.”

  “I’ve noticed that about him.” Gabe opened the front door, waiting until she slipped past him before he went out and shut it behind them. “It makes him easy to teach. He doesn’t get distracted.”

  “No, that’s safe to say.” She looked around. “I should get a porch swing, or at least buy some Adirondack chairs, shouldn’t I?”

  “Porch steps work for me.”

  They each sat on the top one, a couple of feet between them. He rested his back against the sturdy post that supported the railing. He stretched out his legs, while Ciara put her feet on the stair beneath her and wrapped an arm around her knees. After taking a sip, she gazed out at the moon-silvered landscape.

  “Look at the stars,” she whispered. “Where we lived before, we could hardly see them. Too many lights.”

  Gabe pondered that. He knew he never wanted to live anywhere he couldn’t step outside at night and see the heavens brilliant above him. He didn’t want to have to listen to traffic all night long, either. Most people didn’t seem to share his taste for solitude, though.

  Solitude? Is that really what you want?

  Didn’t seem as if it was anymore.

  He wasn’t ready to acknowledge what that meant.

  “Did Mark tell you I’m dyslexic?” he asked abruptly, not sure why. Full disclosure?

  Between moonlight and the gold square of the window behind her, he saw Ciara’s head turn sharply. “No. Is that why—?”

  “Why what? Mark is a good student. I wasn’t.”

  “Then how is it you understand his math?”

  He moved his shoulders in acceptance. “I did well in math. And shop. That was about it.”

  Her eyes searched his face, although he sat in more darkness than she did. “Did you hate school?”

  He let himself think back, something he didn’t often do. “I guess I did. Teachers were mostly helpful, and somehow they passed me on year after year, but—” The burn of humiliation was still there, even after so long. “The worst was elementary school, when we had to read aloud. I’d try to pretend no one was listening, but it didn’t work.” He shook his head at the memory. “I’d stumble even over words I could have read on my own. Kids made fun of me. Not all of them, but some. And my father was convinced I was just being lazy. Mom helped, but Dad...” He took a swallow of his coffee. “Funny thing is he wasn’t a reader. Liked TV news, but we took the newspaper for Mom.”

  “You wonder if he wasn’t dyslexic, too,” she said slowly.

  “He might have been.” He’d never before thought about things like this. He’d gone to high school with Ginny, and she’d known he was a slow reader. Somehow, neither of them had ever tried to find some deeper meaning behind his father’s attitude. But now that his mind had started working on it, he found himself thinking, Yeah, that could explain how much Dad didn’t want to admit what was really wrong. “Maybe,” he found himself continuing, “if he had a problem, it wasn’t as extreme as mine. But if he’d blocked out his own problem, having it rear its ugly head again in his kid might have poked at stuff he didn’t want to admit.”

  “Or he felt guilty because it was his genes to blame.”

  Guilty? His father? He snorted. “If so, you’d never have known it.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Why were you thinking about this tonight?”

  “I got to wondering if your ex had some of Mark’s issues.” Part of a kind of introspection he didn’t usually indulge in. Gabe saw her jerk at what he said and then bend her head so her hair swung down to provide a veil. He continued anyway. “Might be why he couldn’t handle it.”

  “No,” she said, so softly he tilted his head to hear her. “He’s...not much like Mark.”

  Gabe watched her, guessing he’d upset her but not sure why. Did she believe her son took after her instead? She’d said she hadn’t gone on beyond a high school education. Had she had difficulties in school? If so, he had to believe they’d been academic, not social. From the beginning, he’d been attracted to more than her looks. Her friendliness was so natural. Her warmth shone through. Okay, Mark was friendly, too, Gabe had to give him that, but otherwise he was...awkward. No, more than that. Unaware of how people responded to him.

  While he sorted through possible ways to change the subject, she stayed curled forward as if protecting her midsection. He didn’t like seeing her in pain, however it had been inflicted.

  “I didn’t mean—” he started to say.

  At exactly the same moment, she straightened and burst into speech. “What you said about normal. I keep thinking about that.”

  “I’ve been sorry I said it,” he admitted. “I upset you.”

  “Yes, but you were right. I started asking myself who really is normal, and I don’t know. Were the boys who ganged up on Mark normal? If so, who wants to be?” She spoke fiercely. “Are the computer geeks? The jocks? My ex-husband?”

  “Hard to call an Albert Einstein or a Mother Teresa normal,” he agreed.

  “Extraordinary has to be better, right?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “Well, then.”

  He smiled into the darkness. Well, then. Nice conclusion.

  “What Mark doesn’t do well is...conform.” She said it like a dirty word.

  “A lot of kids don’t,” he agreed.

  A lot of adults, too, come to think of it. Nobody would have accused Ephraim Walker of being a conformist.

  Gabe thought he wasn’t himself.

  The difference between Mark and everyone else, though, was that they knew what the standard was and just chose not to meet it.

  Mark...well, odds were he hadn’t bothered to notice that there were spoken and unspoken social rules at all, or what kind of behaviors it took to meet them.

  That might have changed, though. Watching him the day of the cutting-horse competition, Gabe had seen the kid try a few times to mimic what the others were doing. Might be the age, a stirring of hormones. He wondered if the onset of puberty had anything to do with the boys assaulting him. Testosterone in action. Might there have been a girl serving as the trigger? Wouldn’t surprise Gabe.

  He and Ciara sat in silence that felt remarkably peaceful. Having reached a conclusion that satisfied her, she had relaxed. She flattened her hands on the porch boards to each side of her and tilted her head back, either admiring the stars or savoring the night air on her throat. Unfortunately, the position arched her back and pushed her breasts up.

  He wondered what she’d do if he scooted over a little bit, enough to put his lips to that long, smooth throat. Nibble his way down her chest, or up to her
jaw. Find her lips.

  He forced himself to look away. He’d kissed her once and— Well, he still didn’t know if that had been a mistake or not. But he had no idea if she was ready for anything like that—or if he was.

  Damn, he wanted her in bed, or on the kitchen counter or anywhere else. But he didn’t let his hormones rule him. Making love with her, there’d be consequences. Huge, life-altering ones.

  His way was to think long and hard about any action that was outside his usual. Preferably when he wasn’t within touching distance of her.

  “Guess I should say good-night,” he said, making rising motions.

  She was flustered enough, he wondered what she’d been thinking about—or whether she’d forgotten he was there at all.

  He’d walked up earlier, and now after she, too, said good-night, he crossed her lawn and ducked between the fence rails into the pasture, met by his horses, who seemed pleasantly surprised to have his companionship. What he knew was that Ciara stayed outside until he must have been long since swallowed by the darkness. He had to be halfway down the long slope before he heard the soft sound of her front door closing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  FEELING LITTLE ZINGS of panic, Ciara stood for a moment, her phone in her hand. The next moment, almost without thinking, she called Gabe. It alarmed her how readily she was doing that, but...they were friends. Right? It was so hard to believe she’d only known him for—what?—six or seven weeks?

  He answered after a couple of rings, saying calmly, “Ciara.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re probably working.”

  “I am,” he agreed, but not sounding put out. “You must have had a reason for wanting to talk to me.”

  She wanted to talk to him about everything. Not like she was going to say that.

  “Leslie Weeks just called. Jennifer’s mother?”

  “I know Leslie.”

  “Jennifer wants Mark to go with them on a trail ride tomorrow. He’s not ready for anything like that!” she wailed. Oh, wonderful. Hysterical mommy. “Is he?” she asked, timidly.

  He chuckled, a low rumble that soothed her as nothing else could. “Sure he is. The Weekses know he hasn’t been riding long. Chances are they’ll hardly break into a trot. Depends where they’re going.”